stretta malagueña
by memorysdaughter
Summary: Tumblr prompt: "We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall." [Skimmons]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey everybody! While I attempt to get my life back together (and update all of the long-termers I have here) I've been doing some writing over on tumblr that I thought should get posted over here too.

The prompt was: _Skimmons: "We live in adjacent apartments and our bedrooms are on opposite sides of a very thin wall and one night I heard you crying and talked to you through the wall."_

The title: "Stretto" means a joining together of two voices; "malagueña" is a Spanish dance in a gypsy style.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Fitz, I'm fine," Jemma forced herself to say. "It was just a bad day."

"I could come over with pizza and root beer and bad movies," her best friend offered. "You love pizza and root beer and bad movies."

"Last time you brought _Chainsaw Death House 4_ and _Gone Girl_."

"And they were both bad. For different reasons."

Jemma resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall. "Yes, but you never pick the _right_ bad movies."

"So I'll bring the food, you look through your extensive collection of terrible films, and we'll watch… uhh… _When Terry Met Molly –_ that lesbian rom-com."

"That is not a movie."

"Well, it should be," Fitz replied. "We're not good at movies, are we?"

"No. I'm sorry, Fitz," Jemma went on. "I just want to be alone."

Fitz hesitated. "Well, okay. If you're sure."

The sound of a blender tore through their conversation.

"Are you making margaritas?" Fitz asked curiously.

Jemma sighed. "No. It's the acoustics in this apartment – I can hear literally _everything_ that goes on next door. Our apartments are laid out in perfect tandem – every room of mine shares a wall with the matching room of hers."

"Is this why you don't want me to bring food over? You've got a hot date with your neighbor?"

"I don't even know my neighbor. The only thing I have a hot date with is a bath and some wine."

"Okay," Fitz said gently. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will," Jemma promised.

"See you at work tomorrow."

"Until then."

Jemma hung up and the blender went off. Then she could hear her neighbor singing.

There were a few things she knew about her neighbor: Female. Employed (left at roughly the same time each day and returned at roughly the same time). Single (stayed home a lot of nights). Enjoyed computer games enough to yell at them. Ditto for reality competitions, cooking shows, and a wide variety of crime dramas on TV, with a heavy fondness for "Law and Order: SVU." Ran the blender frequently. Swore a lot in the kitchen. Took very short showers. Had a dog (barking came through even clearer than the blender).

And the singing – her neighbor had a voice like an angel.

Things Jemma didn't know about her neighbor: Her name. What she looked like.

The first could be rectified at any time, should they meet in the hallway or on the stairs or down by the mailboxes.

The second would never be anything but a mystery.

Jemma sighed and reached up, taking off the tinted glasses that protected her hyper-sensitive eyes from the light. She dropped them on the kitchen table and moved her long cane to the umbrella holder by the door, kicked off her shoes, and dumped her backpack on top of them.

Blindness was the cause of the majority of Jemma Simmons' problems, but they weren't truly _her_ problems. They were everyone else's problems, and that was why they hurt her so badly.

 _Of course a blind scientist isn't worth a damn. Of course she'll always be seen as the charity case. Of course she's never going to be promoted. Why'd we give her a job anyway?_

She knew that wasn't true. She loved her job. She loved her boss, Maria Hill, and the fact that she got to work with her best friend, Fitz. Maria never saw her as a liability or a charity case, and Jemma had plenty of supportive coworkers and peers.

But Jemma hadn't counted on Victoria Hand, president of the company, who had visited only hours before. Apparently no one had told Victoria Hand that their chief biochemist was blind. Apparently that was something Victoria Hand wasn't prepared for. Or happy about. And the things she'd said –

Jemma cut herself off, shaking her head.

It was definitely time for wine.

* * *

The phone rang as Skye shut off the blender. She stopped herself mid-song and moved to answer it. "Hi, Dad," she said, reading the caller ID.

"Hi, sweetheart."

"You know, Dad, you don't have to call me every night."

"I don't call you every night. Sometimes your mother calls."

"Is Mom at wine club? Sorry, I meant book club?"

Phil laughed at that. "Yes, she's down the street at Natasha's."

Skye smiled. "Well, good. She always comes home in a better mood."

"Six ladies drinking and bitching about romance novels. What could make her happier?"

"Something at the gun range?"

"We save that for our special date nights. Along with a few other things, of course."

Skye rolled her eyes. "And that's all I need to hear about _that_."

"You worried we're going to give you a sibling?"

"Thank God I know you're both too old for that."

"Never say never. Science is full of miracles these days, you know." Phil's voice softened at the last part.

Skye knew. "Is that why you're calling, Dad?"

"I can't just want to talk to my daughter?"

Skye waited.

"Yes, honey," Phil said. "Your mother and I are supportive of your decision to move out, but…"

"Dad, I'm twenty-three," Skye said. "It was definitely time."

"… you have three tubes implanted in your body and you vomit more than drunk frat guys," Phil went on.

"Not so much anymore," Skye said. "And that's why I have Arthur."

Hearing his name, the dog raised his head from his comfy bed in the corner.

"A dog that can dial the phone."

"Science isn't the only thing full of miracles these days, Dad," Skye said.

"No, it's not," Phil agreed. "Your mother agreeing to marry me was one. And you, sweetheart."

His tone was so wistful and sad that Skye couldn't stand it. "Hey, Dad, not to interrupt this compliment-fest, but I've got a hot date."

"Gordon Ramsay?"

"Gordon Ramsay," Skye agreed. "I need to see who he throws a skillet at tonight."

"Okay," Phil said, cheer returning to his voice. "Take care of yourself, and we'll see you on Sunday."

"We'll be there at four."

"I love you, Skye."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I love you, Skye," Phil repeated a little more sternly, but still with a hint of a smile in his tone.

"I love you, Dad."

Skye hung up and rolled her eyes in Arthur's direction. "Parents are weird, Arthur. Thank God you don't keep in touch with yours."

Arthur let out a short bark, as though agreeing.

Skye began singing again as she poured the contents of the blender into the waiting plastic bag. She filled the tubing running from the bottom of it, twined the tubing into the pump, twisted the tubing into her body, and hung the entire assembly on the waiting IV pole. That accomplished, she turned the pump on, whistled for Arthur, and rolled her dinner into the living room.

The water in her neighbor's bathroom was running as she sat down and searched for her evening dose of Gordon Ramsay torturing chefs. It was one of her guilty pleasures, something her parents never could understand. Arthur hopped up on the couch next to her.

"You don't eat," Phil would say in confusion.

"That's why it's perfect," Skye would always protest. "They don't cook like they should, and I don't eat like I should."

It wasn't exactly true. Nutrients still went into her body, just not through her mouth. Following the worst flu she'd ever had, an illness that required two weeks of hospitalization and massive medical intervention, Skye had been informed that her stomach had shut down. Permanently. Being twelve, she had no idea what that would mean.

Now, eleven years later, she knew exactly what it meant. _Gastroparesis_ was the big fancy medical word for it, but for Skye it meant she had three surgically-created openings into her body: two feeding tubes, one that went into her stomach (for draining air and fluids) and one that went directly into her intestines (which, for some reason, were still fighting the good fight and absorbing stuff); and a central venous catheter that was threaded into her heart, which provided IV access for supplemental nutrition as needed.

Her life was radically different from most twenty-somethings', but she was proud of the progress she'd made. She'd moved out of her parents' house with her devoted service dog, successfully gotten a job at a bookstore (a New Age one, run by quite possibly the most charming elfin woman Skye had ever met), and she somehow managed to have a weekly-ish "date" with her best friend Trip.

Gordon Ramsay waved a spatula at a cowering young chef and Skye laughed. "Thought you could _julienne_ instead of _au gratin?"_ she asked the TV, shaking her head. "Oh, Martin, you unlucky son of a bitch. This might be the end for you."

Arthur barked in agreement.

* * *

Jemma found that once she was two glasses of wine into the evening, in the tub with lavender-scented bubbles forming a somewhat-protective cocoon around her, she couldn't keep herself from crying. The day's conversations with Victoria Hand were still running through her brain like traitorous snakes. The worst sentences weren't even the ones Victoria Hand had spoken to _her_ , but the ones she'd heard as Maria moved around the lab with that horrid woman. It wasn't always a true stereotype that blind people had over-developed other senses, but Jemma's hearing was still pretty good. And on top of that, Victoria Hand was _not_ a quiet woman.

" _I realize that affirmative action is the trendy policy now, Maria, but I was hoping you'd hire an African-American scientist. Or a blond. God knows we don't have enough of them."_

" _I have hired people from many different demographic areas. You've already met Alphonso Mackenzie in the engineering department, and Barbara Morse up here in biochem. We're still negotiating to bring Dr. Banner over from the HULK Project so he can head up our genetics faculty, but it shouldn't be too long before he's here as well."_

" _But a_ _blind_ _scientist? Sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen."_

" _I have complete trust in Dr. Simmons."_

" _Of course you do, Maria. You trust everyone."_

" _Everyone here has earned my trust."_

" _Well, that's fine, I suppose. I guess I'll leave early and raise our disaster insurance."_

" _Ms. Hand, with all due respect, Dr. Fitz has caused more lab accidents than everyone else in the building combined, and you had nothing but praise for his work."_

" _She's never going to be promoted, Maria."_

" _That's between Dr. Simmons, her work, and myself."_

" _We'll see."_

 _A snort, and then Victoria Hand and her clacking heels moved on._

The water around Jemma was cold, and she shook her head. Maybe she should have taken Fitz up on his offer of movies and food. At least that way she wouldn't be in the tub, alone, cold and more upset than she'd been recently.

She reached down and pulled the plug, letting the water drain from the tub. Time for warm pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a trashy Braille novel before bed.

And maybe more crying. She was never one to close herself off from possibilities. Even if they were terrible ones.

* * *

Gordon Ramsay forced Martin to leave the competition, Skye squealed with delight, Arthur barked because Skye was happy, and then it was time for bed.

Skye yawned as she brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas, unwinding herself from cords and wires in order to slip into her comfortably worn T-shirt and Captain America PJ pants. She rolled all of her equipment into her bedroom and hooked herself back into everything.

Arthur leapt up into his customary spot on her bed, the outside edge, and made himself into a happy fluffy ball.

"I love you, you know that?"

Arthur gave her a doggy sigh.

"Yeah, yeah," Skye said. She leaned over, turned out the light, and crawled into bed, curling towards the wall.

Once she had completely relaxed, though, she found that she wasn't tired at all. It was comforting to listen to Arthur's snuffling and the _whir-drip_ of her pumps, but she was wide awake.

"Too much excitement with Gordon Ramsay," she muttered to Arthur.

The melody of the song she'd been singing before twined through her head, and yet she didn't have the desire to even sing. She was bored. She was restless. She was –

… she was hearing crying.

Sometimes she forgot that the two apartments at the top of the building were sandwiched together with one wall in the middle. She and her neighbor shared all of their walls, and consequently Skye could hear everything that went on – more so than most apartment dwellers.

The crying intensified and Skye's heart broke. She had to do something. "Hello?"

The crying abruptly stopped, so she repeated herself. "Hello?"

* * *

Jemma thought she was going crazy when she heard something through her tears: " _Hello?"_

She sucked in a deep breath and waited, trying to see if it would happen again.

Sure enough, a few seconds later: "Hello?"

The voice was coming from the other side of the wall. Jemma turned towards it. "Hello?"

"Hello, who are you?"

"Who are you?" Jemma was dumbfounded. This was one of the strangest conversations she'd had, and she was still unsure if it was a hallucination from her terrible day.

"I am nobody, are you nobody too?" The voice was fluid, full of light and laughter.

 _The singing voice._

"I'm Jemma," she replied.

"I'm Skye."

"And… you're real?"

"Really real."

"You're my neighbor?"

"As neighborish as a neighbor could be," the voice said. "Actually, that's not true. We're not very neighborly, are we?"

A small smile crossed Jemma's lips. "No, we're not."

"I don't know anything about you. Until now, I didn't even know you were British."

It was bizarre, this conversation. It was comforting. It was special, because there was no artifice. No one was being judged on their looks or their nervous tics, it was like talking to an ethereal therapist.

"I know a lot about you."

Skye laughed. "Oh, really?"

Jemma went hot. "Um, not because I'm a stalker. Or anything like that. It's just… I have very good hearing, and our apartments…"

"… share walls," Skye agreed. "I know. I'm just loud, huh?"

"Not loud," Jemma said, trying to figure out how to resuscitate the conversation. "Just… passionate."

Skye's voice had a smile in it when she responded. "I like that. Passionate."

"What's your dog's name?" Jemma asked.

"Arthur. Why were you crying?"

"Well. That's… uh…"

"Sorry, that was abrupt," Skye said. "I can ask a different question."

"No, that's fine," Jemma said. There was something about Skye's reassuring, confident, _passionate_ voice that made her open up. "I… had a bad day at work. My boss's boss visited, and let's just say she's not the most complimentary woman."

"Ugh, supervisors always are," Skye said.

"It would almost be better if she'd said the rude things _to_ me," Jemma continued. "Instead she said them to my boss, and I overheard them."

"Did your boss stick up for you?"

"Yes," Jemma said.

"Good," Skye said. "That means something."

"I like my boss," Jemma said. "She's… she's wonderful. Treats us all fairly, believes in all of us."

"That's the kind of boss you want," Skye said. "My boss is silly and charming, but she's got a spine of steel and she doesn't take crap from anyone. If you're on her good side, she'll fight for you to the end."

She twined her fingers in Arthur's fur and sighed happily, thinking of Kate, her boss. Kate loved Skye and Arthur, and Skye loved her boss and her job.

Jemma laughed. "I just realized we never mentioned _what_ we do. I'm a biochemist."

"Wow," Skye said. "Sounds like a college thing."

"Oh, a lot of college," Jemma replied. "I have a doctorate."

"Wow. Smarty pants, huh?"

"I started at sixteen," Jemma said lamely.

"A _real_ smarty pants!" Skye laughed.

"Well, what do _you_ do?"

"I work at a bookstore," Skye answered. "A New Age bookstore. I deal with hippies and I sell crystals and incense and overpriced Buddha statues."

"Oh," Jemma said.

"I don't buy into all that stuff," Skye said.

"Mm-hmmm. Tell me, what is the market price for Buddha statues?" It was hard for Jemma to keep sarcasm out of her voice.

"Rich hippies pay a hundred and fifty dollars," Skye shot back.

"Good Lord," Jemma said. "I'm in the wrong line of work."

"Nah. You'd be wasting that fancy degree and stuff."

Jemma went quiet.

"Are you all right?" Skye asked softly.

"Just… tired," Jemma said.

"Me too, finally," Skye said.

"Um, thank you for talking to me," Jemma said.

"I couldn't just let you cry," Skye said.

"You actually could have."

"No," Skye answered. "I'm not that kind of girl."

"I'd like to know more about what kind of girl you are," Jemma said, going hot again as she realized that sounded extremely forward. "Um, I mean…"

Skye's voice was full of smiles again. "It's not the weirdest thing we've said through the wall."

"Right. Uh, what I meant was, perhaps we could have a date get to know each other better. Oh, Lord."

Skye laughed and it sounded like little bells. "A date that's not a date?"

"Sure. A meal. And a movie. Do you like those things?"

Skye went oddly quiet and for a moment Jemma thought she'd offended her invisible discussion partner. "Skye? Did I say something wrong?"

"What?" Skye replied hurriedly. "No, no. It's just… um… I'm very busy. Let me get back to you."

"All right," Jemma said, trying to keep things light, though her heart was breaking. What had she said?

Could she get _anything_ right today?

* * *

Skye pressed her palms to her eyes. She hated conversations like these. Dates were always hard – people always wanted to eat, and there was such a culture around food that it was difficult to explain why she'd prefer to see a movie or walk through a garden.

But Jemma, her invisible neighbor with the beautiful British accent, was the nicest person Skye had talked to that day, and there was something sweet and gentle about her. Skye wanted to know more.

Tears flooded her eyes and she hurriedly wiped them away. A sob still escaped her chest, though, and Arthur brought his head up and whined at her.

She shook her head. "I'm not sick," she murmured to him. "Just…"

Then she realized Jemma's voice was coming through the wall, rising and falling in a measured cadence, and she turned back towards the wall to listen.

"… _and the sea, the sea / suspended / aroma / chorus of rich, resonant salt / and meanwhile / we men / touch the water / struggling / and hoping / we touch the sea / hoping. / And the waves tell the firm coast / 'Everything will be fulfilled.'"_

Skye went quiet, letting the words wash over her. "What was that?" she asked hesitantly, her voice raspy.

"Poetry," Jemma said. "A poem by Pablo Neruda. He's my favorite poet."

"It was gorgeous. Thank you."

Neither spoke for a few beats, and then Jemma said, "And thank you for our conversation. It really means a great deal to me."

Skye had to smile at that, though it caused more tears to stream down her face. "It means a lot to me too."

"What do you say we meet tomorrow morning and talk in person? Around eight-thirty? We could walk in the direction of the bus stop together."

 _That_ Skye could do. "Okay."

"Until the morning," Jemma said.

"Until the morning," Skye whispered, and she was surprised how easily sleep stole over her, those beautiful words flowing in her veins.

* * *

Skye was standing on the landing outside the apartments the next morning slightly before eight-thirty. She wore the bright purple backpack that contained her feeding pump, a bag of formula and supplements, the bag that vented her stomach, and the IV pump, hooked to still more nutrients; tubes and wires coiled out of the bag towards her body like an elderly woman wrapped up in some out-of-control knitting. Next to her, Arthur sat patiently, wearing his service dog vest and looking extremely smart.

"This was a bad idea," Skye whispered to Arthur. "What if she hates me? What if she…?"

Her second question was cut off as the second apartment's door opened and she caught sight of Jemma for the first time.

"Oh," Skye said, feeling like she'd been punched in the sternum.

"Good morning!" Jemma said cheerily. "Did you sleep well?"

Skye found that her mouth was hanging open. The woman before her was radiant – long brown hair, shiny and curly, wearing a smart blouse and slacks and a gorgeous smile. And the woman before her was unquestionably blind.

"Skye?"

"Uh, yes. I'm here," Skye managed to recover.

Jemma tilted her head and pulled the door shut behind her. She locked it with nimble fingers, then propped her white cane into her left elbow, sticking her right hand out for Skye to shake.

Skye hesitantly put her hand out and shook it.

"Oh, shit," Jemma said, but even though she was cursing, she sounded extremely proper. "I didn't tell you I was blind, did I?"

"No. It did not come up," Skye said, still stuttering over her words.

Jemma laughed, and all Skye wanted to do was hear more of that. "Silly me. I forgot we've only spoken through the wall. Well, I'm Jemma Simmons, and I'm blind. And I'd understand if you didn't want to go out to dinner with me."

Skye found the tension in her chest release somewhat. "Hi, Jemma Simmons. I'm Skye Coulson, and I _don't_ want to go to dinner with you, but not for the reasons you're thinking."

Jemma looked quizzical.

"Um, may I… show you something? Is that the right terminology? Like, put your hand on something?"

Jemma's eyebrows raised and Skye blushed furiously. "I mean, not that. It's just… I need to explain… damn it, this is awful."

Jemma giggled. "I think we were less awkward when talking through a wall."

"Me too." Skye rolled her eyes.

"Please, show me anything you'd like," Jemma said. "Within all laws and standards of decency, of course."

Skye smiled and the tension eased further. With one hand she took Jemma's in hers – it was soft and delicate and she found she wanted to hold it for a very long time – and with her other she carefully pulled up her shirt, guiding those slim, tapered fingers to touch her tubes _one, two, three_.

"Oh," Jemma said, and Skye felt her heart drop to her toes. "I see."

"Yeah."

"No wonder you don't want to go to dinner."

"Yeah." Skye wanted to throw herself down the stairs.

"You're a robot."

"I am such a… wait, what?"

Jemma smiled. "You forget I have a doctorate in science, Skye. I've learned about all sorts of things, and feeding tubes are one of them."

"Oh," Skye breathed with relief.

"So you don't eat and I don't see."

"We're quite a pair," Skye agreed.

"So dinner's out," Jemma said. "How do you feel about long walks?"

"I love them."

"Okay, good," Jemma said. "Let's start with a short one. To the bus stop, perhaps?"

"That sounds nice." Skye let her shirt drop, but she kept Jemma's hand in hers. "How do you feel about jigsaw puzzles?"

"I'm actually fairly decent. Why?"

"Well, how do you feel about meeting my parents? We do jigsaw puzzles every Sunday."

"You move quickly for a robot, Skye," Jemma said, but she was smiling.

"Sure do," Skye replied. "Before you know it, we'll be sleeping on the same side of our wall."

She had to say, Jemma's laughter sounded even better in person.

* * *

 _The poem Jemma reads is "Ode to Hope" by Pablo Neruda._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** There was such a positive reaction to this (originally intended to be a one-shot) story that I had to write more. These chapters will be somewhat-connected drabbles that are mostly somewhat related. (Is that confusing enough for you?)

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. You guys make my day!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Skye?"

"Hmmm?"

"You've been in the bathroom for an hour and Arthur has been scrabbling against it for about that amount of time. Are you all right?"

"Hrnnn."

"Can I get you anything?"

"Nnnn."

Jemma put her forehead against the bathroom door. She and Skye had taken to spending evenings in Skye's apartment, mostly because, as Skye put it "I have more equipment. I'm less movable." Jemma didn't mind; Skye's apartment was comfortable and organized and it was nice to curl up on Skye's couch and pet Arthur.

"Do I need to call someone?"

"Nnnn."

"Has the vomiting stopped?"

"Nnnn."

On one of their first nights together, over a marathon of some sort of bizarre cooking show where the contestants were handcuffed together while making cupcakes, Skye had told Jemma a great deal about her medical condition. And all of the things that came with it – stomach pain and vomiting being the two most common break-through symptoms.

Jemma had no problem with vomiting. She only disliked it because she knew it meant Skye was in pain. They hadn't been together long, hadn't even made their relationship "official" (whatever the hell that meant), but Jemma's feelings for Skye were deep and true, and she knew Skye felt the same way. And a vomiting session had never gone on for an hour.

"Can I let the dog in there with you?"

Skye vomited again and she whimpered.

"I'm letting Arthur in," Jemma said, and she reached down and patted the dog on the head. "Go help, buddy."

Arthur's feet _click-click_ ed on the floor, and Jemma opened the door and let him through.

The dog was a distraction, though, because as soon as he was in and the door was closed, Jemma went back to the kitchen, where she'd left her phone, and clicked it on, finding a number she'd recently programmed into her speed dial and calling it without any hesitation.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. Coulson. This is Jemma. Skye's… friend?"

"Hello, Jemma. Is something wrong?"

"Skye's… she's…" All of the worry that had built up over the previous hour squeezed Jemma's throat.

"Take a breath," Melinda suggested, her voice steady.

Jemma's throat was still hot, but she sucked in a breath and waited a few seconds until the panic clenched around her heart eased somewhat. "Skye's sick."

"Okay, good first start," Melinda said. She still sounded remarkably calm and Jemma wondered how long it would take before _she_ could remain that calm. "Can you give me some details?"

"She's vomiting," Jemma said. "For about an hour."

"Okay," Melinda said. "Do you know if she took any medication?"

"I don't know." The anxiety clenched around Jemma's heart again. "She's not talking anymore, just sort of making noises."

"Where's Arthur?"

"She didn't want him in there at first, but I just shoved him in there."

"Okay. I'll talk to Phil and get his thoughts on the matter. Will you ask Skye if she took any medication and if so, at what time?"

"Mm-hmm," Jemma managed to get out.

"Thank you. And Jemma?"

"What?"

"You're doing a wonderful job. Sometimes, someone just being there is the best thing," Melinda said. "I'll call you back in a few minutes. Is that okay?"

Jemma nodded, then realized she could see Melinda no more than Melinda could see her. "That sounds fine. Thank you."

She hung up, slipped her phone in her pants pocket, and went back down the short hallway to the bathroom door. She'd spent so much time at Skye's apartment that she usually left her cane by the door – she didn't need it. She knew where everything was, just like her own apartment.

"Skye? I just called your mother," Jemma said.

"Nnnnn." That one came out as more of a moan.

"She wants to know if you took any medication."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"Can I come in?"

There was a moment of hesitation, and then: "Mmm-hmm."

Jemma opened the bathroom door and Arthur moved towards her, whining. "I know, buddy," Jemma said. "We're working on it."

He trotted away from her. Jemma reached out for Skye, touched her shoulder, and knelt down next to her. "Do you need a cold washcloth or something?"

"No," Skye whispered, her voice raspy and low.

"Can I hold your hand?"

Skye didn't respond to that, but after a few seconds Jemma felt Skye's clammy hand slip into hers.

"My mom's… going to come here," Skye rasped.

"Because she cares about you."

"Makes me feel like a child."

"I know you're not a child."

Skye retched and Arthur whined, pushing up against Jemma's hand. "I can't do anything about it, buddy," she whispered.

Jemma's phone rang and she shifted her position on the tile floor so that she could answer it without letting go of Skye's hand. "Hello?"

"Hello, Jemma. It's Phil."

"Hi."

"I talked to Melinda, and I'm going to come down there and check on Skye," Phil said. "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

"All right."

"Is she able to talk?"

"Yes, a little," Jemma said. For some reason, just hearing Phil's calm voice made her want to cry. She couldn't articulate why, but he was almost _too_ reassuring. "Would you… would you like to speak with her?"

"If possible."

"Your father wants to talk to you," Jemma said to Skye.

"Fine," the other girl grunted.

Jemma put the phone in Skye's hand and leaned back against the wall. Arthur butted up against her and she stroked his fuzzy head. "We're getting help," she whispered to him.

She closed her eyes; they were burning from a full day of work and the events of the evening. She could hear Skye's half of the conversation and the only thing keeping her from panicking completely was the fact that Skye's voice was strong, if a bit gritty.

"Yes. Through the line. No. No. About forty-five minutes ago. I don't think so. No, I'm not going to do that. You don't have to… Fine. Yes. Yes, she's very good to me. Arthur's good to me too. No, I didn't want him to see that."

Skye sighed. "Okay. See you in a few minutes."

She hung up and handed the phone back to Jemma. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"This is gross and embarrassing."

"Well, we already knew our relationship was going to be different than most," Jemma said, shifting her position again. She kept her eyes closed. "So we're not watching some silly TV show. We're still together."

"And I'm…" Skye gulped and retched, took a deep breath, and then vomited. "Ugh. I'm so sorry."

"Sweetheart," Jemma said, and brought up her hand to rub Skye's back. "This is just something that happens to you, and I'm here with you to do whatever I can to help, even if that's sit on this bathroom floor and pet your dog. Or you."

"You're too good for me," Skye said, and Jemma could hear a smile in her voice.

Then she heard Skye shifting, giving a grunt as she rearranged her pumps and tubes. "Maybe sometimes I wish we were a normal couple. Like, we could go out to dinner. And actually eat it. Or go to the movies."

"We can go to the movies," Jemma said with a grin. "I'm blind, not immune to culture."

"Who said I wanted to see good movies?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot. You do like terrible movies."

"So do you!" Skye protested, but Jemma still heard the smile in her voice.

"I do. I guess we're destined for each other."

"Hmm," Skye said, and she leaned her head onto Jemma's shoulder.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Arthur's doggy breathing and the _whir_ of Skye's pumps the only noise in the bathroom.

"I never asked you this before," Skye said, her voice tentative and small, "but how'd you go blind? Is that okay to ask?"

Jemma smiled. "You can ask me anything."

"Oh," Skye said. She made a sort of hiccupping noise and Jemma froze, thinking Skye was about to vomit. Then she realized it had come from the other side – it was Arthur, snuffling and snorting.

"I was born sighted," Jemma said, squeezing Skye's hand. "It didn't last for very long. I had… I _have_ … a genetic disorder called Leber's congenital amaurosis. I had light perception at birth, but I started losing my sight when I was five months old."

Skye pulled away from Jemma and retched. Jemma heard her swallow, but she didn't vomit.

"I don't remember very much of having sight," Jemma went on. "I remember the color red, and my parents' faces."

"Those are good things to remember," Skye said, returning her head to Jemma's shoulder.

"Now things are just fuzzy and gray," Jemma said, "and my eyes are extremely light-sensitive, which is why I wear the tinted glasses."

"I like the glasses," Skye said.

Then she jerked up and vomited. "Oh, God," she mumbled.

Jemma heard the front door open and then Phil's voice: "Hello, ladies."

"We're in here," Jemma called.

Footsteps approached the bathroom, and the voice spoke again, closer this time. "Hi, Jemma. Hi, baby doll."

Skye vomited again, and then managed to rasp, "Don't call me baby doll."

Arthur popped up from his spot beside Jemma and trotted over to Phil.

"Hi, buddy," Phil said. "Skye, I want to give you more Zofran through your line."

"I don't want it," Skye protested weakly. "It makes me feel weird."

"And vomiting doesn't?"

"The vomiting stopped."

"Uh, you are a terrible liar, kiddo," Phil said. "Also, I just watched you vomit."

Jemma pushed herself to her feet. "I can wait in the living room," she said. "It's getting a little crowded in here."

She stepped out of the bathroom and clicked her tongue for Arthur. He toddled after her, and Jemma sat down on the couch, feeling anxious again. It was silly – she knew that Skye was in good hands, Phil would make sure the vomiting stopped and his stubborn daughter took medicine to keep it stopped – but something in Jemma broke every time Skye was in pain. She couldn't fix it. She wouldn't ever be able to fix it.

Arthur hopped up on the couch next to her and pressed against her.

"You're a good dog," Jemma murmured, and patted his head.

After twenty minutes or so, footsteps signaled that someone was exiting the bathroom, and by their tone and the weight behind them, it was Phil.

"Is she okay?" Jemma asked, her voice wobbly.

"She's going to be fine," Phil said. "I carried her on into bed and hooked up some IV fluids and nutrients for her. I had her brush her teeth first, in case you go in there to cuddle."

Of course Jemma was going to go in there and cuddle.

Phil stepped around the side of the couch and lifted Arthur up, taking his place on the couch next to Jemma. He took Jemma's hand. "You are an amazing person in Skye's life. Most people would have run for the hills now."

"I couldn't do that," Jemma whispered.

"You should have seen me the first time I had to take the air out of Skye's belly. I was a wreck. And I know Melinda vomited after doing the first dressing change on Skye's central line." Phil squeezed Jemma's hand. "The point I'm trying to make is – Skye's life has always been very private, and it's mostly been her choice. The fact that she's let you in, let you get this close and comfortable, is a huge step for her. And Melinda and I are grateful. And we know Skye's grateful too."

"I'm grateful for her," Jemma said softly.

"Then you know you're in the right relationship," Phil said. He patted her on the shoulder. "I'm going to let you stay here and be grateful some more, and get home to a woman who will be grateful to hear that her grateful daughter is no longer vomiting, and we'll all be grateful for that."

Jemma smiled. She hadn't known Phil for very long, but she loved his sense of humor and his gentle mannerisms. "Thank you."

"Any time," Phil said. "I enjoy rescuing anyone in distress. It's the superhero complex in me."

"Of all the complexes to have, I think that's one of the best," Jemma said.

"I'll tell Melinda you said that," Phil said. He stood and put the dog back on the couch. "Okay, buddy, I'm going home. Take care of the ladies. We all know you're the boss around here."

"He really is," Jemma said.

Phil let himself out and Jemma locked the door behind him, then headed down the hall to the bedroom. Phil had turned the overhead fan on, and Jemma liked the way the breeze felt on her cheeks. He'd also turned the lights off, and Jemma loved that her eyes relaxed.

Arthur clambered onto the bed. Jemma lay down a bit more gracefully (or so she hoped).

"Hi," she whispered to Skye.

"Hi," Skye replied. She smelled like mint and the candy apple lotion she liked to use.

"Your dad's amazing," Jemma said.

"I know," Skye murmured. She turned towards Jemma and gently stroked Jemma's face. "I'm so sorry about tonight."

"When are you going to stop apologizing?"

"Hmm. When I'm forty," Skye said. "If I don't rupture my stomach and die first."

"Stop that," Jemma said, her voice sharp. "I don't want you to say that."

Skye pulled her hand back from Jemma's face.

Jemma gathered herself. "I'm sorry," she said in a lower tone. "I just… you're far too important to me to even consider something like that. And tonight… because I can't fix it…"

The anxiety grabbed her and pinched in at her ribs.

Skye must have seen something in her face, because she brought her hand up to Jemma's face again. "I'm sorry," she said. "Although I feel like we're saying that a lot tonight."

Jemma smiled as Skye's hand brushed over her cheek.

"This has been going on since I was twelve," Skye went on. "And one of the ways I learned to cope was to joke. Everything seems better if I joke, and I forget that you haven't lived with this as long as I have. I forget that most people freak out when I vomit for an hour."

"Most _sane_ people," Jemma muttered.

Skye moved closer and kissed Jemma's cheek. "I'm getting sleepy," she breathed.

"I'm not surprised. You did an amazing ab workout tonight."

"That's the nicest way anyone's ever phrased it." Skye let out a soft breath.

"Skye?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Jemma smiled, took off her glasses, and curled into Skye.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This chapter is set before chapter two. I'm excited to hear what you think.

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/favorites/follows.

Enjoy!

* * *

"What do your parents like?" Jemma asked. She tapped her fingers on the countertop, listening as Skye poured various things into the blender. "I'm thinking I should bring something."

"You don't have to do that."

"Well, I know. But it seems polite."

Skye set a glass jar down on the counter and looked over at the blind beauty standing in her kitchen. "They like me," she offered. "And I'm already going with you. It's perfect."

Jemma stuck her tongue out.

Skye sighed. "Fine, fine. My mother likes wine and guns and talking about bad romance novels."

"All at once?" Jemma asked, sounding shocked.

"Well, no, not usually." Skye grinned. "That would be _amazing_ , though."

"You and I have very different definitions of 'amazing,' clearly."

"Well, you're blind. You probably don't do a lot of gun-shooting."

"No. Never in my life," Jemma agreed.

Skye poured a generous helping of full-fat cream – high in calories, the better to keep her from fading away due to lack of nutrition – into her tube feed and studied it.

"And your father?" Jemma prodded.

"Captain America."

"Your father is Captain America?"

Skye laughed as she put the cream back into the refrigerator. "No, he loves Captain America."

"Oh, good. I don't think I could handle dating a robot with a superhero for a father."

Skye turned back towards the Brit. "Are we?"

"Are we what?"

"Are we dating?"

"By all of the definitions of the word, yes. We have been on a date, and we have another planned. We are dating."

Skye put the lid on the blender, then reconsidered and added another dollop of molasses to the mixture. "But are we…?"

She trailed off, tilting her head in the way she always did when she was confused, or hopeful, or thoughtful.

Jemma pursed her lips. "Maybe," she said softly. "Do we need to decide right now?"

Skye shook her head before remembering that Jemma couldn't see her. "I guess not," she answered, confused about the knot of nerves that had twisted itself around her esophagus. "Um, I'm going to turn the blender on now."

She kept her head down as her tube feed twirled around, hoping the noise of it would clear her jumbled head.

* * *

"She doesn't have any idea how pretty she is," Skye complained to Trip. She was on her back on the couch, a muted episode of "SVU" on the TV, Arthur on her chest snuffling happily. Trip was next to her, a beer in his hand.

"Girl, you've got it bad," Trip said, grinning.

"And she doesn't have any idea how much I want to _be_ with her. Like a real couple," Skye said.

"Maybe you have to show her."

"Dude, you have _not_ been listening," Skye said. "She's blind."

Trip took a sip of beer. "There's other ways to show someone something."

"I'm already taking her to my parents' house to do jigsaw puzzles. Also, where did you get that beer?"

"She's meeting your parents? Already? God, girl, we've gotta teach you how to date," Trip said.

Skye poked him with her foot.

"I brought the beer with me," Trip added. "God knows you've only got weird stuff in your fridge."

"Weird stuff?" Skye asked.

"Well, you've got a lot of spinach. And cream. And like eighty jugs of molasses. And…"

"I get it," Skye groaned. "Weird stuff."

She closed her eyes and Arthur snuggled in closer.

"Hey," Trip said softly, putting a gentle hand on her knee. "You have a good heart. You're kind, and gentle, and sassy. If this Jemma can't sense that you're exactly the right person to spend all sorts of time with, then she's blind in more than one way. But I know she's not. You two are going the distance. I can just tell."

Skye smiled, her eyes still closed. "Didn't realize you were a psychic."

"Well, since you don't believe me," Trip said, gently tickling her feet, which had ended up in his lap, "we'll get Wanda to do a tarot reading for you."

"That's the biggest lie I've heard you tell since you told that pretty girl in the bar that you were a member of a boy band."

"Hey, she went out with me," Trip protested.

"You don't believe Wanda's skills," Skye reminded him, opening her eyes. Arthur had carefully moved up her torso so that he had both paws on her shoulders, panting in his doggy way right in her face.

"Just because I don't believe them doesn't mean you don't," Trip said.

Skye sighed, smiling at her best friend. "You're right. I do believe."

Trip set his now-empty bottle on the floor. "You got anything else to drink?"

Skye shifted slightly and pointed up at the gently-swaying plastic bag overhead on the IV pole. "I've got another gallon of that stuff."

"Come on, girl," Trip said, and he grinned at her. "Nobody wants to drink that. Including you."

Skye laughed and Arthur barked and she felt better for the first time in a few hours.

* * *

"Arthur, what does a girl wear to introduce another girl to her parents?" Skye asked, turning to look at her beloved dog.

Arthur tilted his head and gave her a doggy smile.

"Jeans?"

Arthur lay down on the floor and panted happily.

"Well, that was pretty much a given," Skye muttered, one hand reaching up absentmindedly to itch the skin around her central line. It tended to get pretty irritated between dressing changes, more so if she was anxious and messed with it. She loved (and sometimes hated) that her mother would do the dressing change while she was visiting, replacing the sticky plastic dressing that covered the spot where the line sprouted from her chest. It was one way she felt she'd never be independent – she still needed her mommy to put a new Band-Aid on her. "They're basically all I own."

She flipped through her shirts before something occurred to her. "Arthur, do you realize that I just asked fashion advice from a dog… about what to wear in front of a _blind_ girl?"

It was so ridiculous that she started giggling, and she felt like a little girl, carefree and oh-so-happy.

Eventually she settled for her favorite dark wash jeans and a violet-colored shirt she didn't usually wear since it had a v-neck and revealed her central line, but she had decided that today it didn't matter. Jemma couldn't see her, and her parents knew she had a line.

"What do you think, sir?" she asked Arthur as she twirled for him.

He barked.

"Good answer," Skye said, and she grinned at him. "Okay, time to get you dressed, and then we're going to walk to see Gramma and Poppy."

Skye knew her parents hated when she referred to them as Arthur's grandparents, and thusly she did it as often as she could. She was still grinning as she snapped Arthur's vest on, still grinning as she packed her backpack full of machines and drips and tubes, and so she was still grinning when she met Jemma on the stairs outside their apartments.

"I got your parents a gift," Jemma said as soon as Skye exited her apartment. "I hope they'll like it."

She brandished a sparkly green gift bag in Skye's direction. "I had someone help me pick it out."

"Whatever it is, they'll love it," Skye said, trying to ignore the knot of butterflies that had taken up residence in her belly.

She was quiet as they left the apartment building together, so quiet that she could hear her pumps running in her backpack.

"Skye?"

"Hmm?"

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Skye said quickly. Too quickly.

"Okay," Jemma said, sounding somewhat hurt.

Skye squeezed her eyes shut and focused on her breathing for a few steps. God, she was nervous.

It took about twenty minutes for them to walk the blocks to the Coulsons' house, and Jemma tried making conversation for about ten minutes of it. Then she just walked silently next to Skye, the noises of pumps and Arthur's breathing and Jemma's cane _tick-ticking_ along the sidewalk their only soundtrack.

Finally they were standing on the front porch, and Skye fumbled for her house key.

"Wait," Jemma said, reaching out and touching her elbow. "Before we go in there…"

Skye looked up.

"… I think I might have offended you earlier with my flippant answer about whether or not we were dating."

"Oh, no," Skye said hurriedly. "It's just…"

"Shh," Jemma said, bringing her hand up from Skye's elbow to her lips.

Skye liked the feeling of Jemma's smooth fingers against her mouth.

"It's just… I've never been very good at relationships," Jemma went on. "I committed to a relationship too early, and… it ended badly. I never want to go through that again, so I think I'm too cautious."

"It's okay," Skye said softly. "You're my… my first… uh…"

"Date partner?" Jemma suggested.

Skye nodded, grateful that Jemma's fingers were still against her mouth so the blind girl could feel it.

Before either of them could move or speak again, the front door opened. "If you're here to carol, you're a few months early," Phil said.

Skye smiled at her father.

"Also, I happen to know Skye's a terrible singer," her dad went on.

"She is not!" Jemma protested hotly. "I hear her sing all the time at home, and…"

"He's joking with you," Skye interrupted. "Jemma, this is my father, Phil."

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Jemma said.

"None of that nonsense," Phil said. "I'm just Phil."

"Pleased to meet you, Just Phil."

"Keep this one around, Skye," Phil said. "She's funny. Now, get on in here. Your mother has spent all morning at the grocery store buying snacks."

"My mother isn't a very good cook," Skye said as Jemma found the doorstep with her cane and followed Phil into the house.

"You don't eat," Phil said.

"Well, I ate at one point," Skye said, "and she hasn't improved since then. I can still _smell_ , you know."

"I hear you talking about me," Melinda called from the kitchen. "I'm a bad cook, not _deaf_."

Arthur trotted away from Skye, seeking out Melinda's presence; she was known to slip him treats when she thought no one was looking.

"Hi, buddy," Melinda greeted him, and then she came out of the kitchen and threw her arms around Skye.

"Oof," Skye grunted. "I saw you like three days ago."

"Three very long days," Melinda replied.

"Mom, before you crush me, this is Jemma," Skye said.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Coulson," Jemma said, and she stuck out her hand.

Melinda released Skye and shook Jemma's hand. "Hello, Jemma. I'm Melinda. Welcome to our home."

"I brought you this," Jemma said, holding up the sparkly gift bag.

"Thank you," Melinda said. "You didn't have to bring us anything."

Jemma flushed and Skye thought she'd never looked more adorable. "I just… my mother would be horrified if I came to a home without bringing something for my hosts."

"She sounds like a good mother," Melinda said, carefully taking the bag from Jemma's hand. "Let's see what it is, Phil."

"It's not a gun, wine, romance novel, or Captain America memorabilia," Jemma hurried to say. "I don't know anything about those."

Melinda reached into the bag and drew out a small succulent plant in a jade-green pot. "Oh, Jemma, it's lovely."

Jemma's face broke into a smile. "Really?"

"Really," Melinda said. "Look, Phil."

"It's a Groot," Phil said.

Skye groaned.

"It's not a Groot," Melinda said, rolling her eyes. "You can't call every plant a Groot. Besides, it's much cuter. Thank you, Jemma."

Skye reached up and began scratching at her central line.

"Hey, knock that off," Melinda said, slapping Skye's hand away from the site.

"It _itches_ ," Skye protested.

"And it's going to get infected if you keep doing that," Melinda retorted. "Get in the bathroom and we'll do a dressing change before you get any itchier."

Skye sighed. "Jemma, can you entertain my father?"

"I think _I_ can entertain Jemma," Phil said. "It is my house, after all."

"Yeah, only when Mom's not home," Skye replied.

"Easy there, queen of the sass," Phil said. "Jemma, if you'll come with me to the kitchen, we can set out some snacks and you can have first crack at the beverages."

"Uh, okay. That sounds lovely," Jemma said.

She flashed a nervous grin at Skye.

"He'll take good care of you," Skye said, trying to reassure her. "And we'll be back in twenty minutes."

Once Jemma was _tap-tap_ ping her way into the kitchen, following in Phil's footsteps, Skye sighed and went to join her mother in the master bathroom. Melinda was scrubbing the counter down with heavy-duty cleaning wipes; they were bright purple and capable of killing almost _everything_.

Skye waited until her mother had finished, then hopped up on the countertop.

"What are you looking so grumpy about?" Melinda asked as she washed her hands, scrubbing under her nails as well. When she'd dried her hands, she pulled a dressing kit from the bathroom closet and slipped on a surgical mask before she opened it. "Shirt off."

Skye wriggled out of her violet shirt and sighed, shoulders slumping.

"Sit up straight," Melinda coached as she took the first pair of sterile gloves from the packet. She leaned in and gently peeled off the clear plastic bandage over the line.

Skye winced and hissed as the bandage came away from her inflamed skin.

"You have to stop doing this," Melinda said firmly.

"I can't," Skye muttered.

Melinda removed the specialized support from around the line itself and tucked it in with the Tegaderm bandage. Those went in a plastic bag along with the first pair of gloves.

As Melinda put on the second pair of sterile gloves, she looked at Skye. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound so upset with you."

Skye made a noncommittal noise.

"I'm not upset with you," Melinda went on. "I just…"

She shook her head and removed the cleansing sponge from the kit, snapping the top part of the handle to release the cleaning solution. "I want so much more for you than this."

Skye blinked at her. "What more do I need?"

"A fix for your anxiety, clearly," Melinda answered.

"I don't know if there's anxiety meds they can put through a J-tube," Skye said.

"So we'll find you another solution," Melinda said, gently moving the sponge around the dressing site.

Skye whimpered as the cleanser came in contact with the scratches she'd opened on her chest.

"Oh, baby," Melinda said softly.

"I want her to like me," Skye blurted.

Melinda froze. "Pardon?"

"Jemma," Skye said, tears flooding her eyes. "I want her to like me."

"This couldn't have waited until _after_ we were done?" Melinda asked, only somewhat seriously. "I'm smiling right now, by the way."

Skye let out a watery chuckle.

Melinda continued moving the sponge around the site. "Honey, she likes you. As the schoolkids say, she _like you_ likes you."

"I don't know."

"Well, I do," Melinda said firmly. Done with the cleaning, she dropped the used sponge into the garbage and began waving her hands in front of Skye's line site to dry it. "I know she likes you, your father knows it, and Trip knows it."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Melinda said. "He called the other night, and said you were all fluttery about this girl. If she's got Trip's approval, she's gold."

She lifted a new Biopatch support to the line, carefully wrapping it around the slender tubing and adhering it to Skye's skin. When that was finished she peeled the Tegaderm from the package and gently plastered it over the line.

"There you go," Melinda said. "All done."

Skye put her shirt back on while her mother cleaned up the garbage and scrubbed her hands again. Before Skye could slide off the counter, her mother put her hands on her knees. "Listen to me, baby," Melinda said softly. "You're an amazing young woman. You're smart, and generous, and kind, and the bravest person I know. You are so strong, and independent, and gorgeous. We're lucky to have you, and Jemma's lucky to have you, whether she knows it or not. And you're lucky to have Jemma."

Skye nodded and then flung her arms around her mother.

"Shh, shh," Melinda said as Skye sobbed into her shoulder. "Love's weird, huh?"

"Mm-hmm."

"The only way it gets less weird is to go with it," Melinda went on. "Figure out what you're looking for and then find it. Sometimes it takes a while. But maybe you'll find someone who makes you happy, and supports you, and knows everything about you and doesn't care. And maybe Jemma's that person."

"Maybe," Skye whispered into Melinda's shoulder.

Melinda gently brought Skye's head up and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "Never say never, huh?"

Skye shook her head and smiled.

"Now, let's go rescue your gorgeous girl from your crazy father," Melinda said. "He's probably telling her about his Captain America cards, and having heard that story more than forty times, I can attest that it's not a story one wants to hear _once_."

Skye laughed and slid off the counter, hearing Arthur trotting towards them. She scooped him up and snuggled him close. "You're my good guy," she whispered to him.

He licked her face and she grimaced, then smiled. "You're my good guy, and maybe Jemma out there will be my girl. Someday."

Arthur barked, and that was all the approval Skye needed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This chapter was written specifically for Skimmons Week on Tumblr! The prompt was "reunion," and this chapter has a title, taken from a Regina Spektor song.

Now I'm going to get some ice cream and count down to when I can see the first episode of the new season - tomorrow morning. Sometimes not having TV really blows.

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. You're amazing!

Enjoy!

* * *

 _you are so sweet (so sweet), dancing to the beat_

"I don't want to go," Skye said to Trip. She was on her back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling fan while an infusion of antibiotics flowed through her central line. It had been a long week dealing with a flu bug that had basically shut down her gut, leaving her tired, on parenteral nutrition, and crabby, not to mention "vomit-y," which Trip said wasn't a word. Just another of the countless perks of having gastroparesis. "What's the point? If movies have taught me anything, it's that everyone's high school reunions are terrible."

"We can see all of the people we hated in high school and we'll realize they haven't done anything with their lives and now they're divorced accountants living in shit-hole apartments and they have comb-overs and they're miserable."

"I don't know who _you_ went to high school with, but everyone in the Facebook group for this sad event is married, or engaged, or pregnant, or has kids." Skye turned her head to look at Trip, who was rummaging around in her closet. "And I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't have any of that."

"Neither do I, girl," Trip said, "and neither does Wanda. We've got different things."

"None of them as good as…" Skye trailed off.

"Hey," Trip said, exiting the closet and kneeling down beside her bed. "So we don't have those things. We have things that are right for us, right now."

Skye shook her head, trying very hard not to cry.

"Shh, girl," Trip said, and he reached in to stroke her hair. "You have two best friends, a job at the very best New Age bookstore in town, and a girl living next door who thinks you're gorgeous despite the fact she can't even see you. You have a dog that adores you, parents who've moved heaven and earth to show you how loved you are, and I can't understand why you can't see that."

Skye closed her eyes and let the tears trickle down her face. "Damn it, Trip."

"You know I'm right," Trip said. "Now, open your eyes and look at this dress I want you to wear."

He moved back to the closet and pulled out a purple silk dress, sleeveless, with a crossover bodice and a pattern of twining black ivy leaves across it.

"Nuh-uh," Skye said.

"You haven't even looked at it!"

"I've looked at it," Skye said. "I'm just not going to wear it."

"It's a gorgeous dress, you have black shoes to go with it, and there's a sparkly purse in here," Trip shot back. "What's the problem?"

Skye groaned. "Trip, you are not a stylist."

"Well, I know that, girl," Trip said. "I work at a Japanese grill despite being neither Japanese nor good at handling those gigantic cleavers they give me. Now, look over here and tell me what the issue is."

" _Issues_ ," Skye corrected him.

"You have more issues than _National Geographic_ ," Trip muttered.

"Arthur, get him," Skye ordered her beloved dog. The dog in question merely raised his head and gave his doggy grin to Trip. Skye sighed and looked over at Trip. "Well, for one, the neckline."

Trip looked down at the dress, then back up at Skye.

Skye sighed again. "It's a v-neck."

"We're all getting old here."

"I can't wear a v-neck. It shows my…" Skye waved her hand at the central line running out of the top of her T-shirt, spiraling down to the infusion pump on the bed next to her.

"You know that's not something to be ashamed of, right?"

"Don't give me those sad eyes," Skye said.

"It's not," Trip said firmly. "It keeps you alive and out of the hospital. Two wins in my book."

"So now I'm going back to a high school reunion to face people I hate, who are more successful than me, who all still remember me as the amazing vomit wonder girl, and I'm going to show up with all of _this_ , and…"

"Take a breath," Trip said.

"Also I don't want to vomit on it," Skye said in a very small voice. "I don't want to go. I _told_ you."

Trip sighed and hung the dress back in the closet. "Then why do you even own that?"

"My mom's best friend bought it for me," Skye answered. "Natasha thought I could wear it on dates."

"Well, good," Trip said. "You're wearing it on a date."

"No," Skye said. "Now, go away."

She closed her eyes and a few seconds later she heard Trip leave her bedroom, go down the hallway, open the door, and walk out into the hallway. Arthur snuggled up against her and she twisted her fingers in his soft fur. "I'm sorry," she whispered to him, though she wasn't quite sure why.

A minute or so later the front door opened again and two sets of footsteps came down the hall, accompanied by a _tip-tap-tip_ she couldn't recognize. Skye didn't open her eyes. "Trip, I'm not wearing the dress and I'm not going," she said forcefully.

"Sit up," a definitely-not-Trip voice barked. "Sit up and look at me and tell me why you don't want to look pretty."

" _Jemma_ ," Skye groaned. "I'm a freak. I don't want a dress that shows that off."

She opened her eyes anyway just in time to see Jemma drop her cane to the floor and move over to the bed, finding it with her hands. "You are not a freak," Jemma said softly. "You are beautiful."

"And you are _blind!"_ Skye protested.

If Jemma had been anyone else, and if she'd been talking to anyone else, Skye was pretty sure she would have been slapped. Instead her girlfriend just sighed. "I'm not talking about the kind of beautiful you need sight for," Jemma said. "And you know that."

Skye let out a huffy breath. "I'm not beautiful," she said. "I'm a robot. An alien hybrid. The vomiting wonder girl. I hated high school and I'm going to hate this reunion."

"You're not going to hate my dress," Jemma said, her voice gently teasing. "But you're only going to get to see it if you go to the reunion. Otherwise it stays in my closet."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "I'll go to the damn reunion and I'll wear the damn dress and I'll sit in the damn corner and cry the entire damn night."

"You are such a drama queen," Jemma said, gently slapping Skye's face.

"And you know Wanda's not going to let you sit in the corner all night," Trip added. "Girl's got a serious dance bug and she pretends she still doesn't understand English when anyone fights her on it."

At that Skye laughed. "Yeah, she does. All right, Jemma, I'll wear the dress. For you."

"Well, and for you," Jemma said, grinning down at Skye. "It'd be horrible to show up at your high school reunion naked… no matter what _I_ might want."

"Plenty of time for that after," Skye said, raising her eyebrows.

"That's my girl," Jemma said, patting Skye's cheek fondly, and her face went warm with how those three words made her feel.

* * *

At the end of the reunion, Skye looked around. The gymnasium was partially-lit, balloons drifting across the floor, crepe paper streamers dangling overhead. In the corner the DJ was still spinning some sort of jazz. People were gathered in tight knots, laughing and drinking punch and reminiscing, standing out on the dance floor or seated at round tables.

She'd only had to talk to about twenty people, most of whom were fuzzy on who she was or who remembered her quite clearly, and she wasn't sure which group was worse. She'd fake-laughed with several former classmates who thought it was hilarious she worked selling Buddha statues and healing crystals, fake-laughed with several more who vividly recounted specific times she'd vomited, generally at some sort of event or in the middle of class, and a few who didn't understand why she needed a service dog and were generally dicks about it. Two assholes Skye remembered as football players with mush for brains blurted out _What the hell's that?_ as they pointed to her central line, and she'd had to try very hard not to kick them in the man-parts, despite the fact that she really, _really_ wanted to. Instead she'd just let those people head back to their own cliques and _away from her_.

But she and Jemma had danced, which was just about the best thing Skye could have imagined from the reunion; they'd danced together, slow and couple-y, and they'd been roped into doing several dances with Wanda, who for some reason was an absolute professional at the Cha-Cha Slide, Love Shack, Electric Slide, Cupid Shuffle, Boot-Scootin' Boogy, Cotton Eye Joe, and about eighty more terrible dances Skye couldn't even name.

When they were breathless from dancing, they'd retreated to their table in the back of the room, which contained only four people and one dog. To Skye they were the very best ones there. Jemma was on her right, wearing the most beautiful cream-colored dress with a gorgeous blue lace overlay (which was totally worth coming to this terrible party), holding Skye's hand and smiling. On Skye's left was Wanda, who as usual was dressed in red, this time a flowing knee-length number that made her look ethereal and had caused most people to do a double-take and ask her if she'd really been the clueless foreign exchange student (spoiler alert: yes), and on _her_ left was Trip, who looked damn good in everything but especially fabulous in a tuxedo. And Skye had to admit, she liked the way she looked in the purple dress; she'd have to remember to thank Natasha. Arthur was on her lap; he was wearing his service vest, as usual, but Trip had given him a jaunty purple plaid bow-tie for the evening. It made him look even more adorable.

"This was an okay reunion," Skye murmured to Jemma, choosing to be as positive as she could.

"Yeah, Miss Pessimistic?"

"Yeah. I only threw up three times," Skye answered. "Well, and twice before we left the apartment."

"You still have a gut bug and you're hooked up to an IV in your chest," Jemma said. "I think people will forgive you."

Skye leaned in and put her head against Jemma's. "How come you're so wonderful?"

"I've got a good example in my life," Jemma replied, and she turned her head and kissed Skye.

"I might not have had a great time with _this_ reunion, but _that_ is the kind of reunion I'll look forward to any day," Skye said.

"God, you're such a cheeseball."

"And you love it."

"Of course I do. Because I love _you_ , you alien robot hybrid amazing vomit wonder girl," Jemma said.

"Is it too soon to ask for another reunion? _Our_ type of reunion?" Skye asked, and she leaned in and kissed Jemma.

"Guess not," Jemma replied when their lips finally parted, a dreamy smile on her face. "Never lose the element of surprise, my wonder girl."

"Never," Skye whispered, and it was an absolutely _perfect_ reunion.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hi, guys. I don't have a lot of explanations for why I've been so quiet on here lately. It's mostly just one explanation. I miss my gorgeous girl more than I can ever possibly explain, and that's led to a lot of sadness, insomnia, and a lack of inspiration or desire to write. I'm working on things with my therapist and spending time with those who knew her and loved her too, but just talking about her can make me cry. Grief sucks, and I feel like I'm trying to justify not needing to grieve ("She passed away in August. It's nearly November. Get your shit together.") even though I know that's wrong. She was truly one of the best things in my life and she is gone.

But here's this. Nearly 4000 words of a chapter that started out in a humorous vein and then, per usual, got dark and sad. Happiness and hilarity next chapter, I promise. And new chapters of nearly everything else in a soon-ish fashion.

Also, I'm looking for someone to read and offer comments and criticism on a fic I'm working on that I haven't shared or published anywhere yet, as I want to get more of it done, but I'd like to know if the early parts will resonate with people. If you think that someone might be you, please let me know.

Thanks as always to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. You flatter me and encourage me with all of your support.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Hello, love. What are you doing right now?"

"Right now? I'm in the middle of shelving a new shipment of books on Jewish mysticism. And also watching Wanda try to give Trip tips on how to pick up women. Which is like watching a duck tell an elephant how to do elephant stuff. Why?"

"Do you have plans for tonight?"

"Jemma, this is all very mysterious. You want to clue me in?"

Jemma sighed. "It's trivia night."

"It's who now?"

"Trivia night. My coworkers and I generally go out once a week to a trivia night at a local… eatery-slash-bowling alley. And Elias, Rothschild, and McNally aren't able to come tonight… I was wondering if you and your friends would like to join us."

"Trivia with people who all have about eight degrees each? I can't think of anything I'd rather do less."

"Come now, Skye. Most people only have two degrees…"

"That's one and a half more than I have."

"… and the questions aren't all academic. It's trivia in a bar, for God's sake. Last week there was a question about… some movie man none of us had ever heard of. Fitz, what was that man's name?" Jemma asked, her voice lessening in volume as she turned to her coworker. Skye heard a muffled response and then Jemma's voice returned, full strength. "Paul Blart. Is that a thing?"

"Yes, Jemma," Skye said, resisting the urge to laugh. "It's most definitely a thing."

"Oh. Well. Are you interested?"

"Let me ask the seductress and her pupil," Skye said. She lowered her phone. "Hey, guys – my adorable girlfriend wants us to come to a trivia night with her coworkers."

Wanda looked at Trip. "What does this mean?"

"It means we go sit in a bar and watch smart people answer questions," Trip replied.

"Oh." Wanda still looked confused.

"If you guys don't come I'll have to bring my parents," Skye said. "And I love them, but…"

"It's not like I have plans," Trip said.

"I am planning on watching new episode of 'Bones,'" Wanda said.

"You could DVR it," Skye said.

"What?"

"Never mind. Should I just tell her…?"

"We'll go," Trip said. "I'll DVR 'Bones' for Wanda."

"Thank you. I owe you one."

"Just have your dad make some of those pumpkin cheesecake bars and we'll be good," Trip said. "At least, I'll be good. Wanda, what do you want out of this?"

Wanda tilted her head and thought about this. "Make for me a friendship bracelet."

"What? Where the hell did that come from?" Skye asked. "You know what, never mind. Sure. I'll make you a bracelet."

She raised the phone. "Jemma? Apparently we're in."

* * *

"Is this okay for you? I mean, being in a restaurant?"

Skye smiled. Jemma was holding her elbow as they maneuvered through the crowded bar/bowling alley, heading for the back room where trivia night was held. Arthur trotted along on the opposite side, Skye holding his lead. "Just because I can't eat doesn't mean I don't like being around others, or smelling food, or maybe sometimes even being really terrible and _eating something_."

She whispered the last two words, but the speed with which Jemma's head whipped around suggested that she had yelled them. " _What?"_

"Easy there," Skye said with a laugh. "I can still taste things. I can put them in my mouth and chew them. Mostly I just spit them out, but things like smoothies I sometimes let go into my stomach and then just suck out with a drainage tube. I like the feeling of swallowing things."

"How long have we been going out?"

"Um… four months?"

"And how long was it going to take you to tell me this?"

"Um… until right now?" Skye was confused. "Is this not okay?"

"No – it's wonderful! I would have let you eat a cupcake the other day!" Jemma said. "You know, when it was Trip's birthday."

"Cupcakes are a little much on the stomach," Skye said. "Besides, _you're_ my cupcake."

"Ugh, Skye," Jemma said, but she grinned.

"Come on. Your friends are staring at us, and Trip and Wanda look like they need me over there to provide emotional support."

"You know that's not true. Trip is one of the most easy-going people I know," Jemma said. "He does well _anywhere_."

"Okay, fine, that's true. But Wanda has the look on her face that she gets when she's about ready to forget English, and unless we're going to be playing trivia in Romanian… I think we'd better take our seats."

They rounded the corner to the section where Jemma's coworkers and Skye's friends were sitting. A young man with an eager expression and curly hair bounded over to them. "Hi, Jemma," he said.

Jemma's face broadened into a grin. "Fitz! Fitz, I'm so glad you're here."

"I'm here every trivia night."

"I know, but this is the first time Skye's been able to join us," Jemma said. "Fitz, this is Skye, my girlfriend. Skye, this is Fitz, my best friend."

"It's nice to meet you," Fitz said. He gave Skye an up-and-down look.

"Yeah, I look pretty normal for a robot," Skye said. "Just a bag full of tubes and pumps and an adorable dog."

Fitz looked down. "Well, he is quite adorable," he said.

He led Jemma to a seat and then, somewhat belatedly, found one for Skye, sandwiching her in between Jemma on her left and Wanda on her right. Then he went around the table, introducing the other members of the trivia team.

"This is Maria Hill, the director of our lab… Bobbi Morse, from biochem… Mack's from mechanical engineering, and Dr. Banner works in genetics."

"I'm Skye," Skye said, feeling only a little out of place. "I… uh… I work at a New Age bookstore."

The others at the table smiled at her, perhaps only a little patronizingly.

"Oh! And these are my friends, Trip and Wanda. Trip is a chef at a Japanese restaurant downtown, and Wanda works with me at the bookstore," Skye hurried to add. "She's our resident psychic."

The tall, broad-shouldered man – _Mack_ – at the end of the table let out a snort. "You know that's not a real thing, right?"

Wanda's gaze sharpened.

"Yeah, I wouldn't push her on this one," Skye said.

"I would prefer that we disagree to agree," Wanda said to Mack.

Skye resisted the urge to put her head in her hands. Trivia night was going _great_.

* * *

It continued to go well as the actual trivia got started. The host was a man in his twenties in a black T-shirt and black-framed glasses; he introduced himself to the crowd as "DJ MoldyCheese." He handed out the wireless response pads and went around greeting each of the teams. He broke into a huge smile as he approached the group of scientists and their hangers-on.

"Hey, guys! It's so great to see you!" he said. "Team Egghead's back together!"

Then he caught sight of Trip, Wanda, and Skye. "Um… hello."

"Alan, this is my girlfriend Skye, and her friends Trip and Wanda," Jemma said.

" _Alan?"_ Skye whispered.

"Well, you didn't think his given name was DJ MoldyCheese, did you?"

"World's a weird place."

"Awesome," Alan said. "So, you guys scientists too?"

"No," Mack spoke up from his end of the table. "They're a Japanese chef, a _psychic_ , and a… what is it you do again, _Skye?"_

God, she wanted to punch him. "I'm a purveyor of spirituality materials."

Alan stared at her. "So you sell crystals and stupid shit?"

 _Yep. That's exactly what I do, Alan._

"If I'm lucky. Some days I just hang out in the kids' book section and cuddle with the stuffed dragons," Skye said, trying to keep from seething with rage.

"Yeah, whatever," Alan said. "Hey, uh, you got something…"

He waved his hand in the direction of Skye's collar, clearly indicating the loop of curly tubing spiraling upwards.

"Oh, that? Yeah, I know that's there," Skye said. "It's, you know, keeping me alive."

Alan rolled his eyes and headed out.

Wanda pinched Skye's elbow. _"Am nevoie pentru a ob_ _ț_ _ine departe de aceste idioti."_

"Yeah, me too," Skye muttered. She and Wanda had been friends for nearly ten years, and some Romanian phrases stuck in her head. _I need to get away from these idiots_ tended to be one Wanda used in bars; Skye was unsurprised to hear it.

"Let's go to the outside," Wanda said quietly.

"Good idea," Skye replied.

They stood. Trip looked up from his lemonade. "Got a hot date?"

"We're going for a walk," Skye said. "Keep an eye on Arthur, okay?"

Trip nodded.

Jemma, hearing Skye's voice, turned. "Are you all right?"

"Yep," Skye said. "Just… need to turn off a pump. And Wanda needs to use the ladies' room."

They hurriedly left from the table just as DJ MoldyCheese announced the first category: "Geography."

* * *

"This sucks," Skye said once they were outside. The night air felt good against her face, but it did nothing for her spinning head and her clenched stomach.

"We are not like them," Wanda said softly.

"Trip always says everyone's smart in their own ways," Skye pointed out.

"Not like them," Wanda repeated. "They are the smart that is to matter."

" _You're_ smart that way too," Skye said. "You _have_ a college degree."

Wanda shook her head. "And you have almost one. They still do not believe we can be equals."

She drew her shawl a little closer around her body and smiled at Skye. "We are not to need fancy degrees to be good people. To work hard. To be friends. To care about others."

"At least you _finished_."

Wanda leaned in and cupped Skye's cheek in her hand. "Your reasons for not finishing are valid and they saved your life. _That_ is more important than to finish."

Skye nodded reluctantly. She'd been two years into her degree in library sciences when violent spasms of acid reflux had caused two ulcers – one in her stomach and one in her esophagus. They'd hurt like hell, but she'd tried to work through them; she wasn't a quitter. She willfully ignored the fact that she was vomiting blood and getting blood out of her g-tube, directly from her stomach, and never mentioned a word of it to her parents.

They'd found out, though, when she passed out from severe anemia, dangerously low blood pressure, and a rapid heartbeat. Arthur had followed through with his training and alerted the paramedics and Melinda and Phil. Skye was admitted to the university hospital nearly immediately and had surgery less than an hour later to repair a blockage between her stomach and her small intestine and to stop the bleeding from the ulcers. Her ensuing hospital stay had been a little more than a month. In that time Phil and Melinda packed up her dorm room and brought everything home; her father had gone to the dean's office and un-enrolled her.

She hadn't gone back.

"I didn't tell Jemma that," Skye whispered. "I don't want her to think I'm stupid."

"She does not need to know," Wanda said. "You will tell her if it is the right thing."

Her phone let out the little chirpy noise that signaled a text. She pulled it from her pocket. "Trip says we are to come back in."

"Ugh, do we _have_ to? I mean, they've probably moved on from geography to Polish thermodynamics," Skye groaned.

Wanda grinned at her. "He says 'next category is Disney films.'"

Skye found she was grinning right back at Wanda. Her two best friends had spent a great deal of time with her both in the hospital and at her home afterwards, and they'd watched a _lot_ of Disney movies. Since then the tradition had only continued. "We're going to rock this."

* * *

DJ MoldyCheese gave them a dirty look when they reappeared, but Wanda and Skye slid into their seats next to Trip with light hearts.

"Disney, huh?" Skye asked.

Trip nodded.

"As you all know – well, as _most_ of you know – the second round is traditionally our speed round. Questions will appear on your response pads; your goal is to answer as many of them as you can in five minutes. Type in your answers and you will immediately receive either a green check mark to signal a correct response, or a red 'x' symbolizing an incorrect response, and you will also see the correct answer. Each question is worth ten points. Additionally, the team with the most correctly answered questions at the end of the speed round will receive a special bonus for our final round. Teams on your mark… set… go!"

"First question," Bobbi said, reading from the response pad in front of her. "In _The Sword and the Stone_ , what does Merlin call the greatest force on earth?"

"Love," Trip said.

Everyone at the table swiveled to look at him.

Mack shook his head. "No, it's gotta be strength, right? Or magic."

"Put magic," Fitz said.

Trip rolled his eyes.

Bobbi typed something and frowned. "It says 'love.'"

Again, everyone swiveled to look at Trip. He shrugged. "Not my problem if you geniuses can't listen."

"Um, next question," Bobbi said. "Which of Captain Hook's hands was a hook?"

"His left," Wanda said.

The table went quiet.

"Put it in," Mack said grudgingly.

Bobbi hesitantly typed in "left" and looked up a moment later. "That's correct."

As it turned out, Skye, Trip, and Wanda could answer every question Bobbi read off the pad.

"When does Mary Poppins say she'll leave the Banks' home?"

"When the wind changes."

"What is the motto for the Rescue Aid Society in _The Rescuers?"_

"We never fail to do what is right."

"How many eggs does Gaston eat for breakfast?"

"Five dozen."

"When Pinocchio is transformed into a real boy, what is different about his hands?"

"He now has five fingers instead of four."

"In 1940 Disney released two full-length animated features. Name them."

" _Fantasia_ and _Pinocchio_."

"Is Mulan right- or left-handed?"

"Left."

"What is the Court of Miracles?"

"The Gypsy hideout in _Hunchback of Notre Dame."_

"Name the six members of Big Hero Six."

"Hiro Hamada, Baymax, Wasabi, Go-Go, Honey Lemon, Fred."

"What event in _Frozen_ was the very first to happen to a Disney princess?"

"Elsa was crowned queen."

By the end of the speed round, Team Egghead had answered forty-two questions. DJ MoldyCheese had the grace to look astonished when he brought up the results. "Um, wow," he said. "Now leading the scoreboards – Team Egghead! You receive four hundred and twenty points, and you are now the team to beat. We'll take a short break before our third and final round."

The other members of the team stood and milled around the table; some went off to order drinks or food. Jemma moved down until she was next to Skye, and kissed her on the cheek. "Hi."

"Hi," Skye answered flatly.

"You saved us, you know," Jemma said. "Bobbi and Mack are terrible at geography."

"Well, you're welcome."

"Skye. What have I done to upset you?"

Skye hesitated. "It's just… you invite me and Trip and Wanda along like we're just three stand-ins for your missing teammates. Like you don't expect us to answer any questions – we're just placeholders."

"You're not…"

Skye cut her off. "Your friends denigrate our jobs and you say _nothing_. They make us feel like we're lesser people because we don't have all sorts of fancy degrees, and you can't even stick up for us!"

"That's not…"

"Wanda and Trip both have degrees. Did you know that? Wanda has a dual degree in Eastern religious studies and women's studies, and she didn't speak English fluently until she was fifteen. Trip graduated from culinary school, and he's working towards opening his own restaurant someday. Did you _know_ that?" Skye's voice rose.

"No," Jemma said in a small voice.

"And did you know that I have _half_ of a degree because I nearly _died_ at the start of my junior year? I spent a month in the hospital and yeah, maybe part of me was afraid to go back, but the other part of me wanted to stay out of school because the first thing I saw when I woke up from surgery was my mother's face, and she looked absolutely broken. I'd seen it before and I vowed then I would _never_ do anything to make her look that way again. And if that meant _not_ going back, that was what I had to do."

She was breathing hard, her voice a near-yell, and she found she was on her feet. "I just…"

Arthur pushed at her legs and she felt like sobbing. "It's okay, buddy," she said, her voice wobbly. "I'm just… upset. Not sick."

Jemma sat, shell-shocked.

"I'm going to go," Skye said. "I'm sure someone can give you a ride home. I'll go with Trip and Wanda."

She grabbed Arthur's lead and turned away.

"Skye," Jemma said, her voice a near-whisper.

"Jemma, I just can't talk to you any more tonight," Skye said. "I'm sorry."

She pushed away from the table, looking for Trip and Wanda. She didn't look back.

* * *

Wanda held Skye while she cried, and rocked her back and forth. Trip sat on the other end of the couch and drank a Gatorade he'd found in the fridge, patting Skye's foot. Arthur somehow wedged himself into Skye's lap.

"I've felt… not good enough before," Skye whispered. "All the time, almost. But tonight…"

She shook her head.

"It will pass," Wanda said.

"You don't know that," Skye said.

Wanda gave her a patient smile. "Don't I?"

"Not according to that Mack guy," Trip said.

Wanda leaned over and smacked him. "Didn't see _that_ coming, did you?"

She turned back to Skye. "It will pass. This is love, and nothing is easy, or makes sense. But this one… this one is to last."

"Don't try to fix it tonight," Trip suggested. "And you're not going to be alone - Wanda'll stay in your room and I can sleep here on the couch."

Skye nodded. She was suddenly exhausted, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget about all of the personal care stuff she still had to do – tube feed to make up and run through, supplemented with water, IV meds that needed to infuse. But it wasn't an option.

"Unhook yourself and put pajamas on," Wanda said. "I will make up food and water; I know how. You will have to do meds, though."

Skye turned to look at her, surprised.

"We have been friends now for very long time," Wanda said, rolling her eyes. "When will you two realize I am not kidding about my gifts?"

Skye smiled as she unplugged her tube feed and stood up. Halfway to the bathroom, a sobering thought hit her.

"Hey," she said, not turning around. "We just had our first fight, didn't we?"

There was silence for a bit, silence that threatened to crush her back and force her to her knees.

"Yeah," Trip said eventually, his voice low and gentle. "Yeah, girl, you did."

She didn't cry then, or when she brushed her teeth. She didn't cry when Wanda rolled in her tube feed, or while she hooked herself up to her IV meds. She didn't cry when Arthur snuggled up next to her, and Wanda snuggled up next to Arthur.

She waited until her friend and her dog were both asleep, and then, nearly silently, began to sob.

Skye wasn't sure how long she'd been crying, but eventually she was aware of strong arms lifting her out of bed, rolling her IV pole with them, carrying her back into the living room.

"Shh, girl," Trip murmured, holding her close to him. "You don't have to have a degree to be an amazing human being, or an awesome friend, or one of the kindest, gentlest, _smartest_ people I know. And if Jemma or her friends can't see that, it's their loss."

It didn't stop the tears, but they slowed. Skye leaned into Trip and let his breathing lull her into a doze. At some point she felt him carry her back to bed; he tucked her in and kissed her forehead, and though the night had seemed like one big attack on everything she was, in that moment she only felt love.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hi everybody! Here's the next chapter of this. The storyline I start in this chapter will be continued in at least the next chapter. I would have written more but a) it's NaNoWriMo and so I'm writing all sorts of stuff and b) I need to go to bed and c) dramatic chapter ending is dramatic.

The idea for this chapter occurred to me around Halloween, but I haven't been able to get back to this story since then, so that will explain all of the Halloween references herein.

Next to be updated: "Shaken"

Thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, follows, or favorites. Reviews are *my* favorite but I'm grateful for all the support.

Enjoy!

* * *

"I told you, I do not want costume!" Wanda protested loudly. "Costumes are for babies and theater people!"

"Actors," Skye said patiently. "And you're going to need a costume."

"No! Do not need!"

"We told Trip we'd go to the costumed football game with him," Skye reminded her.

"Have been to plenty of football games. No one is wearing costumes."

"Yes," Skye agreed, "but tonight is Halloween, so the team is playing against their teachers while they all wear costumes, and they're raising money for charity. Trip has a costume, I have a costume, and now you need a costume."

"No."

"Fine. Then _I'm_ picking your costume, and it's going to be the most ridiculous one in there."

Skye gestured to the Halloween store, a temporary business located in a strip mall next to the DMV. "And I was here last week with Trip and I happen to know all of the most embarrassing options. So, your move."

"You are deflecting," Wanda said, pointing her finger accusingly at Skye. "You do not want to think about fight with Jemma, so you are bothering me into wearing silly clothes."

Skye sighed, putting one hand to her head. "When was the last time you actually wore a costume, Wanda?"

"Never."

"That can't possibly be true."

"We do not have Halloween in Romania."

"Don't you guys go all out for the Dracula nonsense?"

"Tourists do. People who work in the jobs do," Wanda answered. "Most of us not so much on the Halloween. We have instead Noaptea Sfântului Andrei in November instead."

"And that is…?"

"St. Andrew's Night, and a something I would much rather to explain when we are not standing in parking lot."

"Fine. Let's go inside."

"That is not as I meant."

"I know," Skye said with a grin.

"Fine. I will go in store."

"Good girl."

" _If_ …"

"If what?"

"If you will talk to me as to why you will not fix romance with Jemma."

Skye groaned. "God, you drive a hard bargain, woman."

Wanda merely nodded.

* * *

Trip pushed open the door to the staff locker room at the end of the corridor. He'd just finished his afternoon shift and had just enough time to get home and take a shower before heading out to the football game.

He loved coaching the high school boys. They were so energetic and, for the most part, eager to participate. As a rule they were generally star-struck upon meeting him – his older brother was a professional football player for a team in Canada, but one who had made the news in the US multiple times – but after they'd gotten over that, they realized Trip was an extremely fair and hardworking coach who expected the most out of them. The guys gelled as a team and sometimes Trip was positive that they all were nearly psychically linked in the way they planned movements down the field, the ways they looked for passes and dove for tackles. He was so proud of his team.

And tonight was going to be awesome. He'd been thrilled with the idea of a charity football match between his guys and the high school teachers. When one of the teachers, Mr. Billings, suggested that since the game was on Halloween, they should all wear costumes as well, Trip enthusiastically agreed. He'd been planning his costume for a few days and was more than excited to throw it on.

His phone rang as he gathered his backpack and headed out the back door of the restaurant, yelling a farewell to the head chef. The caller ID showed him it was Wanda.

"Hey, girl, you find a costume yet?"

"I am not wearing costume," Wanda replied. "I am also not calling about costume."

Trip sighed. "You have to wear a costume."

"I am not going to talk about costume any longer," Wanda said, and there was something firmly nervous in her tone.

"Okay," Trip said, softening. "What's going on?"

"Is Skye."

"Can you be a bit more descriptive?"

"Something is wrong."

"Again, I need more, Big W." Trip knew Wanda hated his nickname for her, but he also knew it was the best way to break any tension and get her to slow down, think about what she was saying.

"I cannot be more specific," Wanda said. "I don't know what it is. She is… off."

"Physically?"

"Possibly."

"Mentally?"

"Could also be the possible."

"Okay. Well, she just had a huge fight with her girlfriend. That's enough to throw anybody off their game."

Wanda sighed. "She is fragile."

"She was that before the fight with Jemma."

"No," Wanda said, and her voice got a little more panicked.

"Slow down," Trip said. "I can't help you if you can't tell me what's going on."

"Something is happening and it is not good." Wanda sounded close to tears. "She seemed very pale and also wobbly and I feel pain when I look at her and she is ignoring the Arthur."

Worry thwacked into Trip's stomach. "Where is she now?"

"Bathroom."

"Has she been in there a long time?"

Wanda let out a noise that was something like a whimper and Trip forced himself to calm down. No matter how much he teased Wanda about her gifts, deep down inside he knew that she was very rarely wrong about things. She was incredibly in tune with the entire world around her, and she was extremely responsive to others' situations, including pain.

"Take a breath, Big W," Trip said.

"Very long time," Wanda managed to get out.

"Okay. Okay. Go in there."

"What?"

"Go in the bathroom. The worst you can do is embarrass her, and if it's very serious, she'll thank you later. If it's locked, you get an employee and tell them to open it."

"This is okay?"

"It's very okay," Trip said. "Explain the situation. Remember to speak slowly and carefully."

"Okay. Okay, Trip?"

"Okay," Trip said. "You're going to do just fine."

"Okay. Okay."

"Call me as soon as you know what's going on and give me an update."

"I will. Thank you muchly."

"Anything for my two favorite ladies, Big W."

"Also, do not call me this."

"We'll see."

* * *

Arthur pushed against Skye's shoulder and whined.

"No," she mumbled at him.

He pushed harder.

"Arthur, down," she managed to say. Why did her chest hurt? Why were her lips wet? Where _was_ she?

The dog barked.

" _Stop_ ," she told him irritably. Her head hurt. Maybe if she just slept a little longer…

But pieces of the world were starting to intrude. She wasn't in her bed. Wasn't anywhere she could recognize or remember. The floor under her was cold. Tile, upon further investigation. Navy blue tile with some sort of ugly grout that looked reddish-pink.

Her stomach hurt, her chest hurt, her head hurt, and she couldn't feel her feet.

"Huh," she said, somewhat surprised.

A wave of nausea rolled over her and Skye moaned, pulling her legs in towards her body. The tile-floored place swam around her and Arthur started barking louder.

"Arthur, call," Skye grit out. She tried to reach for her backpack but found that her hands were losing feeling as well.

The nausea got worse and she rolled to one side just in time to vomit. The majority of it was bright red and it made Skye's nausea even worse as she realized that was what had discolored the grout around her. Blood.

How long had she been in there?

"Skye?"

It was a familiar voice.

"Wanda."

Arthur barked and ran over to the door, scrabbling at it furiously.

"We are coming in now, yes? I have staff person of costumes here with me." Wanda's voice sounded rushed and forced, a combination of sounds Skye would have recognized as a sign that Wanda was terrified if she'd been in the right mindset.

"Yeah," Skye said. The pain in her stomach shot through her like fireworks going off in her belly and she couldn't get to the side to throw up again. Blood and bile filled her mouth and she gagged and retched. "Please, _please_."

The door flew open and in an instant Wanda was next to her, kneeling on the tile floor. "Oh, Skye. Is to be okay. Is to be okay."

Her friend looked up at the costume shop employee and barked, "Call ambulance now!"

The terrified employee nodded and darted off.

"Stay with me," Wanda said. "Look at me. I am to talk to you."

"No," Skye said. She was feeling groggy and the numbness was creeping up her legs.

"Tell me how you feel."

"Wrong."

"Be more of a description."

"Can't feel… hands. Feet. Sick."

Skye curled in on herself and choked as the bright acidic tang of bile rose up her throat. Wanda's hands were on her immediately, rolling her to one side. "Okay. Tell me something else."

Skye blinked, hard. The room was spinning around her again and little black dots were filling the edges of her vision. Her entire body felt like she was floating, weightless, drifting off to parts unknown. "You have to tell her," she whispered to Wanda.

"Tell who?"

"Jemma."

"Tell Jemma what?"

"Tell her I'm sorry," Skye murmured, and she reached out and gently took hold of Wanda's skirt with her bloody fingers before she closed her eyes and sank into the darkness there.

* * *

"Simmons."

"Um, hello, Jemma."

The voice was somewhat unfamiliar, but after a few seconds Jemma thought she could identify it.

"Wanda? Is that you?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"Why are you calling me and not Skye?"

A pause. "Skye is unable to call."

"Unable or unwilling?" Jemma asked with a sigh.

"Unable," Wanda said firmly. "You are needed, though."

"Needed for what? Last time we spoke she made it pretty clear what she thought."

"She is not thinking now."

Jemma scoffed. "She wasn't thinking then."

"No," Wanda said firmly. "You are not to understanding."

"Then help me understand."

Another pause. When Wanda spoke again, her voice was shaky, as though she'd been crying. "Skye is… she is at hospital. It is very serious."

"Did she put you up to this? Is this her idea of a sick joke?"

Wanda burst into tears.

A heavy ball of guilt dropped into Jemma's stomach. "Oh, no. Wanda, I'm so sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

Wanda's sobs were replaced by another voice. "Jemma? This is Trip. I don't know what you just said to make Wanda cry, but frankly, I just don't care. Find a way to get down to the university hospital. Skye's in bad shape and it doesn't matter what you said to each other the last time you were together – she's going to want you here when she wakes up."

He was so matter-of-fact that it brought tears to Jemma's eyes. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

"We're on the lower level," Trip informed her. "Should be for quite a while still."

Jemma somehow managed to say goodbye, and then frantically shoved her essential items into the backpack she carried to work. She grabbed her cane and went down the hall to Bobbi's work station, heart beating erratically, palms sweaty.

"Hi, Jemma," Bobbi said, and Jemma moved towards her. "I was just going to come talk to you about the Underhill project and… what's wrong?"

"Skye," Jemma forced out, gripping her cane tightly. "Skye."

"What'd she say to you now?" Bobbi asked with a sigh.

"Skye is in the hospital," Jemma said, forcing her breathing to stay steady. "I have to go. I have to be there. Can you… can you drive me?"

There was no response for a few beats, but Jemma could hear the change in Bobbi's breathing. "Yeah, of course," the other scientist replied quickly. "Yeah. Let me get my keys. Do you have your stuff?"

Jemma nodded.

"Okay. Let's go."

Bobbi didn't speak again until they were in the car. "Do you know what happened?"

"No."

"Did her parents call you?"

"No."

"A friend?"

"Yes."

"The girl?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Bobbi said. "Whatever it is, Jemma, the university hospital is one of the best in the country. They'll figure it out."

Jemma shook her head, hard, trying not to cry.

"I know it's difficult for you to know Skye is dealing with all of her health issues, and I know all you want is for her to be well."

"I should have apologized," Jemma sobbed. "I should have told her I was sorry, and that she doesn't need fancy degrees to be more important than everything else in my life. But I didn't tell her, and now…"

She bit her lip.

"And now you have a chance to realize that, and to tell her that," Bobbi said gently. "That's why we're going."

"She's so… she's so fragile," Jemma whispered, "and yet she's made of iron. And I don't understand it but I respect it and it drives me crazy and all I want… all I want is to hold onto her and not stop."

"You'll be able to do that," Bobbi promised. "We're going into the parking garage now."

Bobbi parked the car, and numbly Jemma took Bobbi's elbow as they went into the hospital. People were all around, flowing in streams of noise and movement, blurring the thoughts in Jemma's head.

"Did they say where they were?" Bobbi asked.

"The lower level," Jemma answered. "I don't know what that means."

Bobbi stayed silent as she navigated Jemma around a group of nurses. "The lower level is the surgical ward and all of the operating rooms."

That twisted Jemma's stomach, and the short elevator ride down to the lower level didn't make things better.

Bobbi led her into a waiting area. "Jemma, there's a receptionist on your right. Do you want to ask him about Skye?"

"Yes," Jemma said immediately.

"I'll put your hand on the desk," Bobbi said, and did just that.

"How can I help you?" It was a man's voice, solid and confident and gentle.

"My… my Skye… is she here?"

"Who's the patient you're looking for?"

"Skye. Skye Coulson. Is she here?"

A pause as the receptionist typed something. "Yes. Her family is down the hall in waiting room C. Do you need directions?"

"No," Jemma said, feeling numb. "Bobbi can… Bobbi can find it."

"Okay," the receptionist said. "If you need any further help, please come back here and we'll be more than happy to give you assistance."

"Thank you," Jemma whispered, and she turned back to Bobbi. "Waiting room C."

"I'm on it," Bobbi said.

Jemma took Bobbi's elbow again and they began to move. The walk seemed to take forever, and each _tip-tap_ of Jemma's cane against the tile floor felt like a throbbing pulse in Jemma's brain.

"Okay, this is the waiting room," Bobbi said. "Skye's friends are over on the right side of the room with two people I don't recognize, but from the way they're comfortable with her friends and the way Skye's dog is with them, I'm assuming they're her parents."

Jemma turned to her right.

"Jemma? Do you want me to stay here?" Bobbi asked.

"No, no, that's okay. You should… you should get back to work," Jemma said distantly.

"Well, let me know if you need a ride home," Bobbi said. "And please call me when you get there. I want to make sure you're okay."

"Okay."

"I am so sorry about all of this," Bobbi said, and she touched Jemma's shoulders lightly before hugging Jemma.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Jemma responded.

"Any time."

Jemma waited until Bobbi's footsteps went off down the hallway before she turned further to the right and began navigating the waiting room, moving in the direction Bobbi had indicated.

"Jemma?"

"Phil."

A hand slid into hers and Phil squeezed it. "Oh, my goodness. Thank you for being here."

"I was informed that I was needed," Jemma said, realizing as the words left her mouth just how British and reserved her tone was.

"God, honey, you have no idea," Phil agreed. "Do you want to take a seat?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Phil found her a seat, and Melinda, Trip, and Wanda greeted her in various solemn tones. Arthur jumped into her lap and pushed up against her chest.

"Hi, buddy," Jemma whispered to the dog.

He was like a comforting stuffed animal, curled up in her lap, and she stroked his soft fur, somehow finding the courage she needed to ask the question that had been on her mind since she'd gotten the phone call. "What… what happened?"

Wanda spoke first. "We were shopping. For the costumes. Skye was… something was wrong. Pain, uncertainty, dizziness. She went to bathroom. She…"

Wanda's voice seized up and from there Melinda took over. "She got very ill in the bathroom. It was very serious – a lot of blood. Wanda called for an ambulance and for us, and then for you. Skye's in surgery now."

"Surgery for what?"

"A part of her central line dislodged itself in her body and caused a blood clot. Two blood clots, actually," Melinda answered. "One clot blocked a vein leading to her legs, and the other was up by her shoulder. She lost feeling in her legs and in her hands, but that was as far as it went before they took her in."

"They're going in to break up the blood clots and make sure there's no damage to any surrounding tissues," Phil went on. "They also have to remove her central line, find the part that broke free and take it out, and put in another central venous line. Probably in her neck, at least temporarily."

"And she'll need to be on antibiotics," Melinda added. "It's possible that whatever caused the central line to break apart was a symptom of an infection."

Jemma's head was whirling.

Phil squeezed her knee. "She's come through worse than this," he said. "And I know that sounds like both a lie and the shittiest thing to say right now…"

Jemma managed to get out a laugh.

"… but she'd tell you it's absolutely true."

"So we wait?" Jemma asked.

"Nothing else to do," Phil replied.

"I was thinking about getting some snackage," Trip said. "Anyone want anything from the vending machines?"

"You should go for to football," Wanda said.

"No," Trip said. "I need to be here."

"She will be in surgery many more hours. She will not wake up tonight. You have responsibility to students," Wanda pointed out.

"Trip coaches the high school football team," Melinda told Jemma. "Tonight they're playing a charity game against the teachers, and everyone is wearing costumes."

Jemma had forgotten that it was Halloween.

"You should go, Trip," Phil agreed. "Those guys need you. You're their inspiration and their leader."

"I don't know about that," Trip said, "but if _my_ inspiration's in there fighting her demons, I guess I can go out and play a game."

He murmured something to Wanda, and came over to say goodbye to Phil and Melinda. He stopped in front of Jemma. "I know we don't know each other very well, at least, not yet, but I do know that you've brought so much light into Skye's life. She deserves someone like you, and despite everything that's happened recently, you matter so much to her. Thank you for being here."

She reached up and hugged him, tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Trip," she whispered.

"Oh, please, I'm not Trip any longer, at least not for the next few hours. I'm now Count Tripula," Trip replied, and though his laughter sounded a bit forced, it caused some part of Jemma to relax.

* * *

"Jemma, Phil's going to be finished in a few minutes. Would you like to go in and sit with Skye for a bit before we take you home?"

Jemma turned towards Melinda, surprised. "Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," Melinda said. "It's encouraged."

"Oh." Jemma wasn't sure how to feel about that. Part of her was terrified of intruding on this family and their private moments. The other part of her was just nervous, nervous for Skye, nervous for what she might feel, being with Skye in the ICU.

"You don't have to," Melinda said.

"No, that would be… it would be okay," Jemma decided.

If nothing else, she wanted to hold Skye's hand. She wanted to touch Skye, to prove that Skye was real, and to talk to her.

"Okay," Melinda said. "I'll take you in there."

Phil returned a few moments later and said some things to Melinda in a quiet tone. Then Melinda said, "Jemma? Are you ready?"

Jemma nodded, and she took Melinda's elbow, the older woman guiding her a short distance, the sounds of beeping monitors and whirring machines growing louder as they approached.

"This is Skye's cubicle," Melinda said. "There's a chair here at her bedside if you want to sit."

Jemma found the chair with her cane and maneuvered herself into it.

"Her hand is right here next to the bed rail," Melinda went on. "She has a tube in her mouth connecting her to the ventilator, and she's still unconscious, so she won't be responsive, but I know she can still hear us."

Jemma nodded, still stunned at all of the circumstances that had occurred just in one afternoon.

"I'm going to talk to Skye's team for the night and see what the plan is," Melinda said. "I'll come back in a few minutes."

Jemma nodded again.

Once Melinda's footsteps faded away, Jemma leaned in and took Skye's hand. "Um, hi," she said, her voice wobbly and unsure. "It's me. I mean, it's Jemma. I'm here. Trip called me. Bobbi brought me here. And I… I can't believe any of this."

She squeezed Skye's hand tighter. "I'm so sorry about what happened on trivia night. I should never have let you down so critically. I'm with those people all day every day and sometimes I forget that not everyone needs multiple degrees – or any degree at all – to succeed in life. You have so much light and joy in your life, and I've been so honored to be a part of that. And you _are_ smart, smart in the ways that really matter.

"And whether you finish your degree or not, whatever you choose to do from now on, I will support you. It doesn't matter to me if you have ten degrees or no degrees. You are a good person with an amazing heart and a laugh that's sometimes enough to make me think I can see… and that's better than a hundred ," Jemma said.

"And I will always, _always_ defend you against anyone who thinks you're a lesser person for whatever reason. I was dumb to forget that in the first place. I hope when you wake up… I can make up for it."

Jemma wasn't sure where the tears came from, but she put her head on the bed rail and listened to the sound of a machine breathing for Skye, her fingers wrapped tightly around her girlfriend's hand, waiting for a miracle or whatever passed for one these days.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hey guys. Sorry it's been so long since this story was updated, but here's a new chapter!

This chapter was inspired by "Critical Role," a web show on the Geek and Sundry YouTube network where a group of voice actors play Dungeons and Dragons. I've been binge-watching it all this week and it's just amazing. In this chapter I introduce Skye's D-n-D friends, who come from a variety of fandoms. Patterson is from "Blindspot" and she's played by Ashley Johnson, who's one of the players on "Critical Role" (and voiced Ellie in "The Last of Us"). Mercer was inspired by Matthew Mercer, the dungeon master from "Critical Role." Claudia Donovan is from "Warehouse 13" and Douglas Fargo is from "Eureka." (They're my OTP from those shows.)

I used a D-n-D name generator to come up with Trip and Wanda's character names. They're hilarious. Give them a shot if you're bored.

Anyway, check out "Critical Role" and "Blindspot" and "Warehouse 13" and "Eureka." They're all amazing. Tell them I sent you. :)

Thank you to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites. You're all amazing!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Thank you for doing this," Jemma murmured to Fitz as he walked her down the hallway to Skye's ICU room.

"She's important to you," Fitz replied. "I want you to be happy, Jemma, and if that means I have to bring you here, of course I will."

As they approached the room Fitz leaned down towards Jemma and spoke softly into her ear. "There's an Asian woman outside the room."

"A nurse?"

"No, she's wearing street clothes."

"That's Melinda. Skye's mom." Jemma hesitated. "How does she look?"

"Tired," Fitz responded. "And maybe a little worried."

Jemma heard someone take a few steps forward, and then Melinda spoke. "Hi, Jemma. I didn't know you were coming to visit today."

"Is it all right?" Jemma asked.

"Of course," Melinda said, and her voice was kind. "Skye's… she's had a rough eighteen hours or so."

Jemma's heart thwacked painfully in her chest. Then she remembered Fitz was next to her. "Um, this is my friend Fitz. We work together. He gave me a ride here."

"It's nice to meet you," Melinda said to Fitz.

"Nice to meet you as well," Fitz said. "Jem, I'm going to go sit in the lounge. Whenever you're ready, give me a call and I'll come and walk you back."

Jemma turned towards him. "Are you sure? You don't mind waiting?"

"No," Fitz answered easily. "I have work to do."

"Thank you," Jemma whispered to him.

He squeezed her hand and then she heard his footsteps walk away from her.

"What happened to Skye?" Jemma asked Melinda.

"She's still draining blood out of both her g- and j-tubes," Melinda replied. "And during the procedure to put the central line in her neck, she went into vasovagal shock and it took them about an hour to get her oxygen saturations back up, so they had to cancel the procedure and she's still got three peripheral IVs that keep infiltrating and they're forced to move them every twelve hours or so. She's in a lot of pain but she's limited to a couple of very small doses of painkillers given very infrequently since everything else makes her nauseous and we can't risk her throwing up."

Jemma nodded, taking all of that in slowly. "And what's she doing now?"

When Melinda spoke her voice was full of good humor. "Believe it or not, she's flat on her back with her laptop mounted over her so she can join in her weekly Dungeons and Dragons game through Skype."

"What?" Jemma was positive she'd heard Melinda incorrectly.

"Skye's part of a group that plays Dungeons and Dragons every week," Melinda said. "Some of them play together at an actual physical location – Wanda, Trip, and Skye's boss from the store, Kate, play in the community room above the store – and others Skype in to play from various locations. Skye's got a handful of friends around the country, very few of whom she's met in person, who she's extremely connected to."

Jemma felt confused and a bit embarrassed. "Um, well, I can leave…"

"No, of course not," Melinda said firmly. "She'll be happy to see you. But, just to warn you, she might insist you roll up a character and join them."

* * *

"Okay, so, you all enter the cavern. It's about a hundred feet high and seems to be maybe seventy or seventy-five feet across. It's made out of the same reddish-brown stone as the rest of the caves you've already gone through. It's very dark, except for a small spot at the far end of the cavern where you can see a small flickering light," Kate said.

"I'd like to approach the light," Trip said.

"Okay. Anyone else?"

"I will also do the approach," Wanda said.

"Anyone else?"

A chorus of "no" rose up from the other players, Skye included. While Kate took a moment to look down at her notes, Skye considered the others on the screen. In one corner of the screen was the Skype window showing Patterson, a gorgeously pale blue-eyed blonde who headed the forensics division at a New York City FBI office. Next to her was a Skype window containing the visage of a scruffy, dark-haired man named Mercer, a voice actor from California. And in the middle of the screen there were two windows; one of them contained Kate, Wanda, and Trip, and the other held Claudia Donovan and Douglas Fargo (chief IT support for an IRS branch in South Dakota and head of a computing firm somewhere in that general area respectively), who were madly in love but refused to admit it, much to the amusement of the rest of the group.

"So Adodithas Smilebeard and Leshanna Silverfrond approach the light," Kate said.

"I'd like to cast stealth," Trip said. "Big W, do you want to do that?"

Wanda frowned. "Do I have this skill?"

Trip leaned over and pointed at something on her sheet. "Right there."

"Oh. Good. Yes, I will do this," Wanda said. "Also, do not call me this."

"We'll see."

Skye smiled.

"Make a roll for a stealth check," Kate said.

Trip and Wanda both rolled dice. Trip grimaced. "I rolled a natural one."

"Wanda?"

"Thirteen."

"Excellent," Kate said. "So Leshanna basically disappears into the shadows, while Ado seems to clomp along as though he's wearing big cooking pots for shoes."

Skye laughed and then winced. "Guys, don't make me laugh."

"You look all right," Patterson observed. "Much better than when you'd just recovered from the vasovagal episode."

"I'm still flat on my back and I feel like I've been hit by a – holy shit, you're here!"

"What? Who is it?" Fargo asked.

Skye grinned. "It's my gorgeous girlfriend."

"You have a _girlfriend?"_ Patterson's voice rose and her pale face went rosy with excitement. "Good for you, Skye!"

"Hi, Jemma," Skye said. "I can't turn my head towards you so my voice might sound a little funny."

Jemma found the chair next to the bed with her cane and sat down. "That's all right. I'm just glad to hear your voice at all, considering that last time I saw you, you were on a ventilator."

"And she's _British?!"_ Patterson's voice rose another octave with delight. "Oh, Skye, amazing!"

"Who's that?" Jemma asked.

"It's Patterson, being her overly excitable self," Skye said, rolling her eyes. "Guys, will you all say hi to Jemma and introduce yourselves?"

The group readily agrees and so for the next few minutes Skye has time to consider her feelings. She hadn't had much time to consider her thoughts on their relationship, what with the blood clots and being unconscious, and now she couldn't even turn her head to look at Jemma.

 _Am I still mad? No. Not really. Jemma's used to hanging around with people who've got more degrees than I've got letters in my name, and I'm not used to those kind of people, either. Maybe our friends just aren't compatible. Yet. And I really love her._

 _Wait. Did I just think the word "love"? Have I told her I love her yet? No. No, I haven't._

 _Maybe I should get on that._

"Skye?" Jemma's voice broke through her chaotic thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Your friends want to know if you'd like to continue playing, or if you've had enough for today."

"Oh. Um, well, I don't want to ignore you…" Skye said, although what she really meant was _I want to keep playing, because this makes me feel normal._

"She could roll up a character," Mercer suggested.

"I think that might be kinda hard," Skye said. "But that could be something we could talk about once I'm out of the hospital, and if Jemma's interested."

Oh, how she wanted to look over at Jemma, to read Jemma's expression. But she didn't really want to pass out again.

 _Is this how Jemma feels, unable to see the people she cares about? God, this sucks._

"Why don't we stop for today," Kate suggested sensibly. "We'll let Trip's poor dice skills take a break."

"Sounds good," Claudia said. "Fargo and I have some work to finish up anyway."

"We do?"

"Oh, come on, guys," Mercer said. "We all know you're going to make out in the closest storage closet."

"We are?" Fargo sounded truly bewildered.

Patterson laughed. "We'll explain it to you when you're older, Dougie."

Fargo went bright red.

"Patterson? That all right with you?" Kate asked.

"Yeah. I've got to get back to work anyway. I'm analyzing some fascinating…" She froze. "… and very classified material."

One by one the Skype windows closed, until it was just Kate, Wanda, and Trip looking at Skye. "Hey, I'll let Wanda and Trip say their goodbyes," Kate said. "I'm going to clean up the shop. Skye, we hope you'll be back with us soon."

"Me too," Skye said. "Thanks, Kate."

Wanda gave Skye an appraising look. "You are getting better," she said. "Maybe very soon you will go home. Three days mostly."

"That's good to hear," Skye said.

"And when you get out of there, we'll have a D-n-D marathon," Trip said. "Patterson's going to be visiting Chicago to talk to some agents out here or something, and she'll come see us once she's done. And Dougie and Claudia have the week off from their job for some reason, so they're up for anything."

"We are to missing you," Wanda said. "I am doing the praying for your good health."

"Thanks," Skye said softly. "I miss you guys too."

She closed the Skype window and gingerly turned her head a few inches to the side. "Sorry about that, Jem."

"It's okay," Jemma said. "I'm just glad… I'm just glad you're awake. And alive."

She found Skye's hand and squeezed it. "Although, uh, I didn't know you were into the dragons and dungeons sort of thing."

"We've been playing together for more than two years," Skye said. "I figure we'll be playing for the rest of our lives."

She sighed happily. "I missed you."

"Skye?"

"Hmm?"

"I wanted to say… I'm so sorry for what happened on trivia night," Jemma said, somewhat shakily. "I should have stuck up for you. I never want to make you feel like you're less than anyone else. In my eyes, you're so much more than everyone else."

Skye felt tears flood her eyes and she swallowed hard. In order to cover her emotion, she said, "I don't know if I'd trust your eyes. They're not so good, you know?"

Jemma squeezed her hand again and leaned a little closer. "If I kiss you, will you promise not to have another vasovagal reaction and pass out?"

"No promises, but why don't you try it and we'll find out?"

Jemma smiled and Skye felt whole for the first time in a week.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hi, guys! It's been forever since I updated this! If you want to know more about what has my attention at the moment, watch "Critical Role" on YouTube. Nerdy voice actors playing Dungeons  & Dragons - it's completely amazing. I've also been putting a few things up on AO3 - find me there as **earthquakegirl.**

Just as a friendly reminder - please don't take anything I've written and claim it as your own. I publish here and on Tumblr as **memorysdaughter** , and as stated above, at AO3 as **earthquakegirl**. Anywhere else you see my work, please let me know.

Thanks to everyone who reads/reviews/follows/favorites/messages! You're all amazing!

Enjoy!

* * *

Skye heard laughter emanating from the café and smiled. She wasn't sure what the laughter was referencing, but she didn't care – she was back at work and the laughter was coming from her radiant girlfriend. Turning around, she saw Jemma at the small table nearest the windows. "What's so funny over there?" she asked. "I know it's not the way I stock these yoga mats."

"No, no, it's not you," Jemma managed to get out breathlessly. "It's this book I'm reading."

"What is it?" Skye put the last of the yoga mats into the display.

"Apparently it's very popular right now – it's called _Last Rodeo With Love_."

"Oh, God, my mom's reading that right now," Skye said, rolling her eyes. "I think her wine club – excuse me, _book_ club – is talking about it next week."

She sat down next to Jemma. "I thought it's supposed to be a romance novel. How'd you end up with it?"

Jemma indicated the small device on the table in front of her; it had a refreshable Braille display at the bottom. "I was buying two other books and the service I use for e-books had a giveaway. Buy two, get one free, but the free one had to come from a list of special ones. It was the only one I'd heard of, so I thought I'd just take a chance."

"And?"

"It's terrible." Jemma touched the Braille display. "Although I can understand why a group of middle-aged women would want to talk about it over wine."

"On the scale of _Twilight_ to some sort of awesome novel everyone should read, where does it fall?"

"Definitely on the _Twilight_ end of the scale."

Kate appeared with a box of yoga DVDs. "Skye, will you figure out a way to incorporate these into the display?"

"Sure," Skye said. "Sorry, Jem – duty calls."

"It's perfectly fine. I'm just going to sit here and revel in this hysterically funny book."

"Maybe you could read some of it to me later," Skye suggested, wiggling her eyebrows despite the fact Jemma couldn't see it. "You know what they say about terrible books."

"That they should be burned as quickly as possible?"

"No, that they're better when shared."

"I don't think anyone says that."

"Well, no, not if everyone's a spoilsport like you," Skye said. She kissed Jemma on the cheek and got to her feet.

* * *

"You know, you didn't have to spend your entire day off at the shop," Skye pointed out. "It's very sweet of you to want to walk me home, though."

"I liked being there," Jemma said. "And honestly, once I got started with that book, I couldn't stop. Every single page just kept getting worse."

Skye poured the contents of a glass jar into the bag attached to her feeding pump. "Now you have to read it to me."

"Are you sure? It's _really_ bad."

"I can't…" The phone rang. Skye sighed and reached for it. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey," her mother said.

"Hi, Mom," Skye answered. "You know, you and Dad could have a night off from calling me. I wouldn't be offended."

"But what kind of parents would we be if we didn't check in every day?"

"Normal ones?"

"I'll just take that as a compliment," Melinda said. "Now, listen, I'm calling to ask you a favor."

"Yes, I'll mow the grass when you go visit Great-Aunt Roberta next month."

"What? No, your father got Billy Koenig to do that."

"But I always mow the lawn," Skye said.

"You just got out of the hospital," Melinda pointed out. "Let Billy do it."

"Did he get fired from the co-op again?"

"What? No. He came over and offered the other day. Now, listen, I want you and Jemma to come to my book club."

"Oh. We're… uh… we're not really book club type people, Mom."

"I wasn't aware a book club needed a special kind of person."

"I just mean that your book club is next week and we haven't read the book yet."

"Oh, that's okay. It's more as a favor to me, so I can show off Jemma to the ladies. They've heard me talk about her for months now and they can't believe how wonderful she sounds."

Skye laughed. "That's incredible. Um, yeah, of course. We'll try to get there."

"It's being held at our house," Melinda said. "Next Tuesday. And if you get time, I guess you could _try_ to read the book."

"I'll see what I can do. What is it? _The Grapes of Wrath? Of Mice and Men?"_

"Were those really the first two books you thought of?"

"No, they're the ones I use as a doorstop," Skye replied.

"Well, it's neither of them. It's this new romance novel – _Last Rodeo With Love."_

Skye started laughing again.

"Okay, so now we've _got_ to read this book," Skye said.

"What? Your mother didn't make it sound like we had to read it," Jemma said.

Skye rolled her feeding pump next to the couch and plopped down. "I know. And that's precisely why we have to do it."

"That doesn't make much sense."

"Humor me."

Jemma sighed. "You're lucky you're cute."

"As far as you know."

Jemma snuggled up to Skye's right side, and Arthur claimed the left side. With her Braille device on her lap, Jemma started to read. "'What did busted-up pickup trucks, wild horses, and hot-tempered men have in common? Well, for starters, they were all irritating as hell in one way or another. And for another, they'd all recently fallen into Roxie Cole's life.'"

"Oh, this book is already a winner," Skye said. "I wish you could do it in a Southern accent, though. It seems like it needs a Southern accent."

"Do you want to read it then, cowgirl?"

"Sure. Only one problem with that – I don't read Braille."

"Then I guess you'll have to suffer through a British cowpoke."

"You're lucky _you're_ cute."

"Don't I know it. 'As a long-time employee of The Silver Spur, where she spent her nights tending bar, Roxie'd seen a stampede of men trot past on their way to breaking hearts. None of them seemed to be stopping in her pastures. At thirty-three she'd given up looking for a stallion to call her own.'"

"Jesus. We're five sentences in and already I want to strangle this woman with a lasso." Skye leaned her head back. "Remind me why this is on the bestseller list?"

"Because there's insanely explicit sex in chapters five, eight, twelve, and seventeen?"

"Oh, well, it could be that."

"And those were just the ones I got to before you told me we had to start over," Jemma added.

"So let me get this straight – we're going to go to a book club meeting with a bunch of middle-aged women, all of whom I know personally and most of whom have seen me grow up, drink some terrible five-dollar Costco wine, and talk about rodeo sex?"

"I believe that's the plan, yes. Except that you can't even drink the terrible wine."

"You're right. I'll just have to put a thumbtack in my palm."

"And we haven't even gotten to the part yet where they make out on runaway horses."

" _Fan_ tastic."

* * *

By the weekend Skye was ready to throttle Roxie Cole with a cactus. The woman was whiny, self-centered, and genuinely _boring._ If Roxie Cole wasn't a fictional character but someone Skye had to interact with in everyday life, there would have been fisticuffs involved.

"She ends up with literally _every_ handsome man who comes through The Silver Spur on their way to the Del Rio Rodeo," Skye pointed out to Jemma as they lay awake in Skye's bed one night. "And yet she still goes to the salon to talk to Mavis about how she's so ugly and no one wants her. _Why?_ "

"I think this book is damaging your soul," Jemma said gently. "All you do is obsess over it and complain about it."

"Oh! And I saw that they're making a _movie_ out of it! Where are all the movies for all the great books? This book is _garbage!"_

As though to punctuate her point, Skye found the paperback copy of the book she'd picked up at the Pick-N-Shop (mostly so she could do Southern accents for the characters when she and Jemma read together) and chucked it across the room.

Jemma was unfazed. It wasn't the first time it had happened.

It _was_ , however, the first time the awkward throwing of the book resulted in one of Skye's tubes being disconnected from her port. She swore and got up to reattach the offending tube, silencing the alarms on the pump as she went by.

"Maybe I should read for a while," Jemma suggested as Skye continued to mutter and curse.

"I had a dream last night that Roxie Cole's car broke down in front of the apartment building," Skye said. "You know, the busted-up pickup truck that Red the mechanic swears he's going to fix?"

"Of course I know. We're reading the same book," Jemma said, but it was clear Skye was lost in her rant.

"And she begged me for help to fix it. And I laughed in her face, and then I stuck a bunch of fireworks in the truck and blew it up."

"That seems like an extreme gesture for a very small problem, love," Jemma said. "Also, it's not technically how fireworks work."

Skye grumbled something at the floor.

"Come back to bed," Jemma said. "We don't have to read any more tonight. We can just… go to sleep. In fact, we don't have to read any more ever. We'll just tell your mom that we got too busy doing other things to finish it. They'll probably get stuck on the chapter where the businessman from New York comes to stay on the ranch and has a large penis."

"That chapter was about seventy pages too long."

"I agree, but I can see how it might appeal to others," Jemma said. "So we don't have to finish it. I could even _tell_ you how it ends."

Skye's head jerked up. "You finished it?"

"I was at the bookstore with you all day last week," Jemma pointed out. "It wasn't like I could do anything else."

"You _finished_ it? Without me?"

"We weren't even reading it together last week!" Jemma cried exasperatedly. "It's a terrible book, Skye!"

"Then why does it make me so _angry?"_

"If I knew that, would we be sitting here arguing? No! You'd be in bed and we'd be cuddling!"

Skye shook her head, the sense in Jemma's voice finally getting through to her. "You're right. You're right. What am I doing? This is stupid."

"So just come here."

Arthur whined as though to agree with Jemma. Skye smiled and got back into bed.

"Don't think about it any longer," Jemma said firmly. "That's an order."

As though to hammer home the point, she reached out for Skye and pulled her close, kissing her gently, then wrapped her arms around Skye, holding her right where she belonged.

* * *

Book club was in full swing by the time Jemma and Skye made it to the Coulsons' house. Arthur trotted in happily, always excited to see new people. Skye and Jemma followed behind at a slightly slower pace.

"You're here!" Melinda cried happily, and she threw her arms around Skye and then around Jemma.

"We sure are," Jemma said into Melinda's shoulder.

"I think the wine drinking started a little early," Skye murmured to Jemma as Melinda bounded away.

Skye quickly introduced each member of the book club – Natasha Romanoff, Melinda's best friend and a martial arts instructor; Trish Walker, a popular radio show host; Jane Foster, a noted astrophysicist; Pepper Potts, a hardworking businesswoman; and Sif, a coworker of Natasha's who had no last name, or if she had one, Skye had never heard it. The coffee table was filled with plates of cheese cubes, crackers, cut up fruits and vegetables, little desserts, and bottles of wine. Skye took a few minutes quietly describing to Jemma what each of the snacks was while Arthur made the rounds.

Once Jemma procured snacks, they found seats and listened to the chatter surrounding _Last Rodeo With Love_. Jemma was horrified to realize that Skye was completely correct – Melinda and her friends had _loved_ the book.

She carefully ate a chocolate-covered strawberry as Pepper and Trish compared each of Roxie's lovers. They were quite taken with Red, the mechanic, "the one who kept getting away" as Roxie referred to him. Neither liked Eli, the businessman from New York, despite his rather impressive… attributes. Pepper's favorite was Solomon, the mysterious traveling musician, while Trish's taste ran more to Gordon, the fast-talking street magician.

At last Melinda turned to Skye and Jemma. "Did you girls get a chance to read the book?"

"We did," Jemma said slowly. "It was…"

"Long," Skye offered.

"It seemed to fly by to me," Jane said. "So exciting! I can hardly wait to continue reading!"

Skye wrapped her hand around Jemma's. They'd finally finished the book, Jemma doing the reading so Skye could pace the floor and yell things at the ceiling while she towed her pumps back and forth. Neither had been happy about the arrangement, or how at the end, Roxie Cole drove off into the sunset – literally – looking for another town, another group of men to raze through.

" _And there's a sequel_ ," Jemma had informed Skye unhappily. " _Love's Wild Stallions_. "

She'd been expecting it, but it still startled her when Skye threw something at the wall and let out a scream.

"Who was your favorite character?" Natasha wanted to know.

"Definitely Mavis," Skye said, referencing Roxie's sassy friend who worked at a hair salon. "Jemma?"

"Oh, I couldn't possibly pick just one," Jemma said lamely.

"Can we talk about the greater feminist message of the book?" Sif asked the group.

"Greater feminist message," Skye murmured into Jemma's ear. "Have sex with literally _anything_ male that walks through the doors of your workplace and then go ride a horse until you respect yourself again. _Jesus_."

Jemma snorted into her wine.

"… very progressive of Roxie to take such an open-minded view to multiple lovers," Trish said.

"And such a wide _variety_ of relationships," Natasha added.

At this Skye let out a noise that sounded like someone was choking a duck. She quickly turned it into a cough.

"Are you all right?" Melinda asked.

"Yeah," Skye wheezed out. "Just fine."

"It's too bad no _real_ men are like that," Sif mused.

It was Jemma's turn to skip a breath. She found Skye's shoulder and leaned in, whispering, "If real men were like they, they'd have some serious difficulties riding the horses Roxie seems to love so much."

Skye chortled.

"Girls?" Melinda asked. "Thoughts?"

"Nope. None at all," Skye said, her voice full of mirth, and she squeezed Jemma's hand, her body shaking with silent laughter.

* * *

Phil insisted on walking them home – "It's a nice night for a stroll" was how he put it, but Skye knew he needed to get away from the book club ladies, who were chortling and nearly hysterical over their wine glasses in the living room. They were only a few blocks from the Coulsons' when he said, "So, how many guys in that book had completely ridiculous assets in the downstairs region?"

The answer was immediate, coming from both girls: " _All_ of them."


End file.
